Victory or Death: The 71st Hunger Games
by FireBird128
Summary: 12 districts. 24 bowls. 24 names. 24 children shall enter the arena. 23 will die. One will be crowned victor. The question is, who will this be? The 71st Hunger Games have begun. I don't own the Hunger Games.
1. Introduction

_3rd Person POV:_

It was Teylin Ravine's first year as Head Gamemaker. She had been a Gamemaker for seven years already, longer than many, yet she never thought she would ever become Head Gamemaker. It was an unimaginable feat. But here she was now, in mid-December, standing in front of President Snow, presenting the arena sketch.

"So, another frozen wasteland, yes?" Snow inhaled a flower.

Had he not understood this yet? "Yes," she mumbled.

"And the Cornucopia?"

"Buried in the snow, about twenty yards from the tributes."

"I see." President Snow plucked another flower. "It's good. Start making it."

She breathed a sigh of relief. He had accepted the arena. _Her_ arena.

His eyes flashed when she lingered. "I _said_, go build it. Tell the masons. Do I need to replace you?"

She was out in a second. She couldn't afford to lose this position. She couldn't go back to the others, having failed at this position. She would have to leave there, too. This was her only chance.


	2. District 1 Reaping

_Demeter's__ POV_

I brush back my silky black hair and glance into the mirror again. I smile. I look good for reaping day. I don a purple homemade dress and black boots.

"You look good." I turn around. It is Artemis, my fifteen-year-old sister. She wears a similar dress, but it is green.

I smile at her. Though she can understand me better than most people, I don't speak much to her. I speak more to her than to others, though.

"Dad says we're leaving in ten minutes," Artemis says.

I nod, and she leaves the room.

Twenty minutes later I am standing in the 16-year-olds' section. I wave at Artemis, who is finding a place among the other 15-year-olds. She waves back, and mouths "Good luck!"

Maybe I will volunteer. Maybe I should show that I do belong in District 1, even though I really don't. But I don't think I will. I have not trained, not one bit, besides the time my friend Jessie got me to work out a bit with a spear. But that was several years ago. Our escort is now reaching for the bowl with the names of all the girls, and I decide to let the dice roll as they may.

* * *

_Glint's__ POV_

The escort lady - I forget her name - pulls out the first name.

"Demeter Arisana Marinos!"

I scan the girls' section. I see a girl in the 16-year-olds' section who is swaying in her spot. She starts to move to the stage. I wait for someone to volunteer.

A girl breaks out of the 15-year-olds. She starts to run to Demeter, but she is pushed back. Demeter is shaking her head and saying something. I think she's telling the younger girl to go back, not to volunteer. The other girl turns back reluctantly.

I turn back to the stage eagerly. The escort is helping Demeter up. Then she goes over to the boys' bowl. _Our_ bowl. I bounce on my toes. Pick a name! Pick a name!

"Humor Kelidancy!"

A 13-year-old boy comes up. I ready myself. This is it.

"I volunteer!"

It's no surprise to anyone. Our district always has volunteers. I walk jauntily up to the stage, where the escort welcomes me.

"So now we have our tributes! Let's give them a hand!" I try not to snicker at her outrageous Capitol accent.

The crown bursts into cheers. I shake hands with Demeter, and we are led away.


	3. District 2 Reaping

_Fabian Lockes's POV:_

Chayenne really is a fabulous singer. She's been singing for my band, The Troublemakers, for three years now. She was good when she started. Now she's 17, and she's amazing. The band meets once week, at least. It doesn't matter that today's reaping day. We don't stop our band for anything. Reapings can't get in our way. National holiday, it doesn't matter. The band always meets. The only difference is that today we are all in our reaping clothes.

I'm wearing a black leather jacket and a blue shirt and blue jeans. Nice, right? Maybe I would've dressed differently if the band wasn't meeting. Oh well.

Most of the other band members wear regular reaping clothes; dresses and suits and ties like you see on everyone. But Chay stands out, with her blue shirt with the big butterfly. Or maybe it's just that her singing draws my attention to her. Most siblings don't get along very well, but Chay and I are close.

Time passes, but I don't really notice. I'm busy with the band, and that's really all that matters right now. We would've probably stayed there all day if it wasn't for Chayenne.

"Guys, we have twenty minutes until the reaping," Chay says, stopping the music.

"No way," says Tomory. He's the band's main drummer, and my best friend. Tomory lays down his drumsticks. "We just started."

"We started an hour ago, Tomory," Chay says.

"Really?" Tomory shakes his head. "That was fast. Well, I guess we'd better go now."

The band disperses. We put the equipment away, and I go over to Chay.

"You ready for the reaping?" I ask.

"Yeah, sort of," she says. "It's my second to last! And your last! Maybe you should volunteer!"

"Maybe," I say. "I'd be famous. You know I'd like that. It's why I started the band. You?"

"Probably not," Chay admits. But if I'm reaped, I'll win."

"Well, we should head over to the square now," I say.

"We'll be early," Chayenne says. "Oh, I know, you just want to see Milah. Of course you do."

"Well, maybe," I say, turning slightly red. Milah Weterway is a beautiful 18-year-old girl who I _really_ like - and apparently, according to Chayenne, I'm not that discreet about it. Milah and I fight a lot, but that apparently doesn't disguise my feelings.

* * *

_Chayenne Locke's POV:_

Fabian and I walk to the square and sign in. We still have ten minutes before the reaping begins, so Fabian goes off to find his girlfriend, Milah. Okay, they're not quite girlfriend and boyfriend, but they're pretty close. I follow him. I don't want to stand around in my section quite yet.

"_There_ you are, Fabian!" We turn around to see Milah striding confidently torward us. "You're late, Fabian!"

"We - we have ten min - minutes, Milah," Fabian stammers, turning bright red. "Did you look at the - the clock? Or were you too - too lazy?"

"It's good to be here early, so you're late in the scheme of things, Fabian."

"Shut up, Milah." They fight a lot, as you can see.

"Late comers should respect their betters," Milah laughs.

"I - have no betters," Fabian says, flushing again.

"Cocky, I see," Milah says. "Lose the stammer, then try again."

Fabian turns even redder. " I don't - I don't always..."

"Stammer? Always around me, is it?" Milah cocks an eyebrow.

"We - we should go now," Fabian mutters, not meeting her eyes. "It's almost time."

We actually have a few minutes left, but I don't mention this. Instead, I go to my section and wait for the reaping to begin.

* * *

_Fabian Locke's POV:_

I try to forget Milah as the mayor, our dad, begins his speech. I try to listen as he describes the Dark Days and such. Finally, he gives the stage to Bilbany Bronze, our escort. Bilbany welcomes us, and then she goes over to the girls' bowl. I don't really ever pay attention to this part, but the name jerks me to reality.

"Chayenne Locke!" Bilbany announces. "Where is our lucky girl?"

Chayenne never really wanted to go into the Games, but here she is, reaped...

I see her. She stands, shocked, staring at Bilbany. I want to yell at her to put on a brave face, an _excited_ face, but I know not to. But then she does. Her startled expression gives way to one of excitement, and she marches to the front.

"Now, for the boys!" Bilbany shouts.

I realize that I wasn't planning to volunteer. But now I sort of have to, to see Chay through. And I'll be famous, too...

Bilbany has barely picked the next name when I shout "I volunteer!"

I push my way to the stage.

Chayenne and I shake hands. It is only as we are leaving the stage that I realize that at least one of us is going to die.


	4. District 3 Reaping

_Belle Davidson's POV:_

_Forever_. I stare down at the iron ring in my hand. My friend, Glade, made it for me a while ago. Inscribed on the ring is one word: _Forever_. The word that links me to Glade. I slip the ring onto my finger. It's just a friendship ring. There's nothing romantic between Glade and me.

I put on my floral dress. My brother, Parker, made it for me when I was 12. He made it right after he turned 18 and got a job. I remember his excitement of finally being able to support our family. That is, the two of us. Our parents died when I was nine and he was fifteen. We spent three horrible years trying to stay out of the community home. This dress was the first thing he made after getting his job. I've worn it every reaping since. It's really small now, since I've been wearing it for four years, but it's the cleanest of my clothes.

I look out of the window. I see the people trudging towards the square. I should join them.

"Parker!" I call. He's off of work for once, because it's the reaping.

"Time to go, I know," Parker calls back. "You ready? We're leaving in two minutes."

I go to the door and slip on my shoes. Parker joins me, and we head outside and join the stream of people.

* * *

_Merlin Avon's POV:_

"No way, you're really wearing that?" James exclaimed.

"You know we don't have that much money," I grumble. James is my friend, but he sometimes forgets that my mother and I are really poor. Most of us are poor in District 3, but we're poorer than many.

"You wear that, like, _every _ day!" James says.

"I do _not_!" I protest. "I wear it every now and then! At least it's _clean_, unlike yours."

James looks down at his rumpled suit. "Well, _mine_ is reaping appropriate."

"Mine is, too," I say.

"Whatever."

People are looking at us weirdly. I guess it's just that we're not as gloomy as everyone else is. Because we should be. It's reaping day.

We find our section and listen while the mayor gives his speech. Then the escort comes up, and the reaping begins.

* * *

_Belle Davidson's POV:_

Our escort goes over to the boys' bowl. He always does this, despite the etiquette of letting the females go first. But I don't complain.

"Merlin Avon!"

A boy comes out of the 17-year-olds' section. He has longish dark hair. His face shows no emotion. How can he do that? He's just been given a death sentence!

The escort goes to the girls' bowl. I remember the inscription on my ring. _Forever_. I will stay in District 3 forever. He will not pick my name. He will not. He reaches for a name. He pulls out a slip. I'm hoping so desperately that it won't be me, it won't be me, it won't be me.

"Belle Davidson!"

My knees go weak. I grasp at the dress of the girl next to me. She brushes me off. I find Glade in his section. He stares at me, horrified. _Forever_. How could this happen?

I stumble out of my section.

_Surely I am dreaming._

I take a few hesitant steps towards the stage.

_How did this happen?_

I reach the stage.

_What can I do?_

The boy, Merlin, reaches to help me up.

_I am going to die._

I am on the stage, and I am shaking his hand.

I remember my ring.

I remember its inscription.

_Forever_.

We are led away, and my death begins.


	5. District 4 Reaping

_Aquamarine Mer's POV:_

The day of the reaping is gray, hinting of a coastal storm soon to come. Most days, the streets of District 4 are streaming with fishermen and sailors off to the ocean, but today the streets are empty and silent. For now, at least. In half an hour, they will be drowned in people heading to the square for the reaping. But now, my brother Neptune and I are the only people out.

"Aquamarine," Neptune says. "Aquamarine."

"Yeah?" I respond. I think he's called my name a few times now. He's used to me taking me a while to respond, what with his quiet voice and my bad ears, which aren't fully healed from the ear infection I got a few years ago.

"Aquamarine, are you going to volunteer?" Neptune asks.

"Am I going to...volunteer? I think so...I guess. Maybe."

"You _have_ to volunteer!" Neptune says excitedly. "Then they'll interview me, and you'll win, and we'll live in Victor's Village! We'll be rich!"

"We're already rich," I point out.

"Richer! Then _I'll_ volunteer, in nine or so years, when I'm 18, and they will interview _you, _and then _I'll_ win!"

"I'm not sure I should volunteer, Neptune," I say. "I mean, I could win...but..."

"You can win," he assures me. "And anyway...didn't your friends already convince you to?"

My friends. My training partners. They _did_ convince me.

"Yeah, I'll volunteer," I decide. "Sure. And I'll, win, Neptune. I'll win."

"And we'll be rich and famous!" Neptune squeals.

"Yeah," I say. "And...we should go back home, get dressed, get ready for the reaping."

"I can't wait for you to win!"

* * *

_Luxtia "Luxe" Emerald's POV:_

"You're going to volunteer, right?" my sister, Amber, asks.

"_Yes_," I say. "I've trained for this for _nine_ years now. I could wait another two years, but I don't want to."

"Well, win," Amber says. She's trained, too, and plans to volunteer sometime in the next few years.

"Of course I'll win," I tell her.

"Awesome, Luxe. Go win this." Amber goes off to her section, and I go to mine.

Soon after, the mayor begins his speech. Then, _finally_, the escort, Magnus Lesker, goes to pick the names.

"Beya Handler!"

A 12-year-old girl walks briskly forward.

"I volunteer!"

Another girl goes up. "Aquamarine Mer," she says.

Magnus goes to the boys' bowl. I don't listen to the name. A fourteen-year-old stumbles out of his section.

"I volunteer!"

I stride out and shove the kid aside.

"This is _my_ Games," I say. Magnus asks me for my name. "I'm Luxe Emerald, District Four's next victor."

Magnus grins at me. "We'll see," he says.

I shake Aquamarine's hand, and we are led into the Justice Building.


	6. District 5 Reaping

_Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari's POV:_

_**Flashback**_

_My mother holds me tight, close to her heart. I'm crying, wondering why she has woken me up at this time in the morning. What is happening?_

_"Bella, I'm leaving," she whispers. "I'm off to find...I'm looking for District 13, Bella. The one that disappeared. The one the Capitol blew...says they blew up during the Dark Days. I'm leaving, and I...I may not come back."_

_I stare at her. "You're going to District 13?"_

_"Yes, Bella."_

_"Why are you going to a blown-up district?" I ask._

_"The thing is..." my mother hesitates for a second. "Thirteen may not actually have been bombed. I believe that it is still prospering. Or maybe not prospering, but I think people still live there. I'm going to find out."_

_My eyes widen. "You're leaving the district?"_

_"Yes, Bella."_

_"Can I come?"_

_"No, Bella," she says. "I'm sorry, but you're to young. Even your brothers...well, maybe I'll come back one day, and take you back to Thirteen with me."_

_"And when are you coming back?" I ask._

_"I don't know." My mother looks out of the window at the trees far in the distance, beyond the fence. "I may never return."_

_My lip trembles slightly. "You won't come back?"_

_"I hope I will, Bella." My mother hugs me tight, and then she stands up, picks up her bag, and goes to the door. She gives me one last, sad smile, and leaves the house._

_I stare at the door, still seeing my mother's smile, my last memory of her._

**_Flashback end_**

"Dad!" I storm into the house. "Is this true? You _really_ gave me _twenty_ tesserae? Now I have _twenty-one_ entries! _Twenty-one_!"

My dad swivels around in his chair to face me. "Yes, I did," he says. "About time you become a _useful_ piece of junk around here."

"What if I'm reaped?" I yell. "I'll _never_ survive!"

My dad stands up and glares at me. "If you're reaped..." He shakes a threatening finger at me. "If you're reaped, you'd _better_ win."

"But _twenty-one_ entries!" I exclaim. "I'm only twelve, Dad!"

"Don't be a _wimp_," my dad says, sitting back down. "You're brother, he was _brave_. He went into the Games, fought hard, and nearly won. He died a hero's death. Your other brother, he didn't want to go into the Games, just like you. But instead of _moaning_ about it, like _you're_ doing, he committed suicide. He wasn't afraid of death, that one. Be like them, _Bellatrix_. Go prove your worth. Be _useful_ for once."

"Hey," I say. "Do you notice that both of them _died?_ And anyways, I'm _not_ going to volunteer, and I'm not necessarily going to be reaped."

"Exactly," he says. "So stop moaning and go do something. Train, maybe. Train, and volunteer some year. You should really train. Your brothers, they trained a bit. One of them nearly won and brought us fame!"

I go to my room and flop onto my bed. I thought about the argument. I didn't like that my dad had mentioned my brothers. They had both died before I really got to know them, the same as my mom. Now it's just me and my dad, who thinks I'm worthless. Great life.

_Twenty-one entries_...how could he? At least there's still only a tiny chance of me being picked...but still.

_At least you get the extra food_, I think. But it doesn't really matter. I've had a job for three years. We have enough food.

I should get ready for the reaping now. It's not for another hour or so, but I want to get to the square before _he_ does. Victor, my enemy, my constant torturer. He always teases me, and he hurts me at every opportunity. He'll be waiting for me there, so I have to get there early, before he does.

I get to the square with forty-five minutes to spare. I sign in, and rush to my section.

"Hey, Bella, did you wash that dress?"

I bite back a curse. Not early enough.

* * *

_Victor Nigel Horninius's POV:_

I stroke back my dark blue hair. My mother dyed it this odd color when I was four years old, after Caesar Flickerman. It was sort of weird at first, but I've gotten used to it the past ten years. Yeah, my mother is sort of weird. I mean, she foresaw when I was a baby that I would win the Hunger Games one day, and she named me Victor. It probably wasn't that obvious back then, but I _will_ win. I'll volunteer.

I get to the square an hour early. Why? Because I want to see Bella come. Bella, that twelve-year-old.

Bella doesn't come for fifteen or so minutes. Finally, I see her hurrying to her section. Trying to avoid me. Ha.

I laugh when I see her dirty dress. "Hey, Bella, did you wash that dress?" I call.

Bella spins around. "Go away, Victor," she grumbles.

"I don't think you washed that, Bella," I say. "Don't you have the money?"

Bella glares at me.

"Maybe you would if your mother hadn't died," I say.

"She isn't dead!" Bella says.

"She isn't dead?" I mock. "Sure she is. She died. She committed suicide. She thought she was ugly because her children were! Especially her daughter."

"She never died!" Bella says. "She...she left! She went to look for Thirteen!"

"She went to look for Thirteen," I repeat. "You expect me to believe that, Bella? That your mother didn't know where Thirteen was on the map, so she went to find out? Wow, she must have been even stupider than you!"

"No, she went to see if it was still there! And she's not stupid, and neither am I."

"_Wasn't_ stupid," I correct. "She's dead now! She died eight years ago. Even if she _left_ then, how can you pretend she's still alive?"

"Because she said she'd come back," Bella says stubbornly.

"Come on, Bella," another voice says. I turn around to see Junia, Bella's best friend. I know her from school. She's always siding with Bella. In other words, she's always getting annoyed with me. I can't stand her. "Bella, let's get away from this freak."

"Oh, _freak_?" I say mockingly. "Oh, yes, I must agree. Bella, you're such a _freak_. Get away from yourself."

"Shoo," Junia says to me. She leads Bella off to their section, and I go off to mine.

* * *

_Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari's POV:_

"Thanks," I say to Junia.

"No problem," she responds. "He's a jerk."

"Yeah," I agree. "A blue-haired jerk."

"Maybe he'll die in the Games," Junia says hopefully. "I mean, we all know he's going to volunteer. He's been bragging about his _skills_ for months."

"Maybe," I say.

We wait for the reaping to begin. Time passes too quickly.

The escort stands in front of the bowl. "At last, it is time to pick this year's tributes!" she squeaks. "I know you have all been waiting for this moment..."

I exchange a nervous look with Junia. _Not me, not me, please don't pick my name!_

"Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari!"

I gasp. She called me! Me! I had only twenty-one entries!

I see Junia. She's white as chalk.

I stumble out of my section and take a few steps toward the stage.

"Bella!"

I turn. Junia comes out of her section. She's going to volunteer. It won't be me! But it's still Junia...

I step back into my section. Junia takes another few steps.

Then, suddenly, a man comes out into the middle. I gasp. It's my father. What's he going to do? Haul me out and insist that I go in?

Father grabs Junia around her waist. She yelps. He pulls her back into her section.

Peacekeepers are reaching for me, telling me I'm in, to go up to the stage. No, Junia is not volunteering. It's me, after all. _I'm _going in.

People are laughing throughout the commotion. I'm shoved up to the stage. It's all my dad's fault. I wouldn't be here if he hadn't made me take all that tesserae, if he hadn't stopped Junia from volunteering and taking my place. It's all his fault. How dare he tamper with my life like this!

The escort is calling for attention. She goes over to the boys' bowl.

"Lance Nicon!"

A fourteen-year-old comes out of his section.

"I volunteer!"

It's Victor, of course. He's the strongest, the best in the district. And of course he couldn't pass up the chance to ultimately show me up.

Victor smirks at me. "My name's Victor Nigel Hornius," he says.

We shake hands, and I'm led away from my life.


	7. District 6 Reaping

_Hayley Borban's POV:_

The rain beats down on the umbrella. It has been raining all morning. No, not just raining - _pouring_. I huddle under the umbrella with Elsa, my eight-year-old sister, next to the community home. Why are we out on this horrid morning, you ask? It's our turn to take out the trash. In the community home, this chore is passed daily from child to child. Rain or no rain, reaping or no reaping, the cycle is never disturbed.

Elsa and I have live in the community home for six years now. When we came, I was six, and Elsa was just two. Our parents had lost their jobs, and the peacekeepers had came for us. Our parents died a year later. Now, we're twelve and eight. This year's my first reaping, and I'm scared out of my mind. I only have three entries, but if they pick my name? What will happen to Elsa? What will happen to _me_?

I try to forget the reaping as we haul the garbage bag to the dump. My nose wrinkles as I smell the district's waste.

"Let's get this over with," I say.

Elsa, never one to speak much, nods in agreement, and we hurl the bags into the dump and return to the community home, where everyone is preparing for the reaping. I join my friend, Collia. She came here two years ago, and we've been best friends since.

"Are you ready?" I ask. There's no need to ask what for.

"No," she says. Silly question, I know. She's right. How could anyone be ready?

"At least you only have two entries," I say. "It's not much of a difference, but I have three. And next year I'll have six."

I get dressed, pulling on my old calico dress, and helping Elsa into hers. These dresses have been worn by the children in the community home for several generations now. They have been ripped and shredded and stitched back together countless times. I can count nine patches on mine, and I know there's more. But there's nothing else to wear.

Collia joins Elsa and me as we leave the community home. We leave our umbrellas behind, reluctantly - they're not allowed at the reaping. We get to the square, sign in, and find our spots. The reaping is soon to begin. I don't control it, but I hope and hope and hope that it won't be my name that's called.

* * *

_Damour Ledd's POV:_

"Good luck," my mother whispers to me as I join the other 13-year-olds. "You won't be picked, Damour. And if you are picked...you can win this." Her words echo in my head. _Good luck._ These words have many meanings. Don't be picked. Stay calm. Forget your father.

Yes, my father. It hurts to remember him. Last week, he got sick. The peacekeepers took him away, killed him for sure. Now my father is gone forever. Remembering him will only make my life harder, so I have to forget him. _Good luck forgetting the man who raised you for thirteen years, Damour._

The reaping is starting. Our escort calls the first name.

"Hayley Borban!"

There is a yelp from the onlookers, from a small dark-skinned girl of seven or eight years. She stares, terrified, at the girl who is so clearly her older sister, going to the stage. Hayley's eyes are pooling, and as she reaches the stage she starts to sob. I imagine her fear, her uncertainty, and look away.

The escort approaches the second bowl.

_You won't be picked, Damour_.

Don't pick my name. Please, don't pick my name.

"Damour Ledd!"

I stumble backwards into a tall boy, who shoves me forwards.

I misheard, surely. She didn't really call my name. No, not me. She couldn't have. This can't be real.

But it is. I am pushed out of my section. A peacekeeper grabs my arms and leads me to the stage. I look into the terrified eyes of the girl, Hayley.

_This must be a dream. This can't be happening_.

I stick out my thin arm and grasp Hayley's hand. Our hands move up and down again, then fall to our sides. I give our district's people one last look, and we are led away.


	8. District 7 Reaping

_Archer Lux's POV:_

It's early in the morning on reaping day, so I didn't expect many people to be out and about. At first, there weren't many, just a stray person here and there. Most people are still be at home, in bed, maybe, taking advantage of the fact that we still have a while until the reaping. Me, I like going on walks in the morning. But I didn't think that any of my friends did, so I'm surprised to see Carley Willows in the street.

Cara and I have known each other for a while. At first, we couldn't stand each other. We were always trying to beat each other in everything. Eventually, though, things cooled down between us, and we became friends. Sort of.

Anyways, Cara is facing Keyan, this kid from school who is notorious for bullying kids smaller than him. Cara is definitely smaller than him, by a foot at least. Me, even though I'm only fifteen, I'm taller than the average 17-year-old. I'm even a bit taller than Keyan, and that's saying something. So, Keyan doesn't really bother me, but Cara is definitely a target of his.

"Wow, Carley," Keyan says, giving her a disgusted look so prominent that I can see it from all the way down the street.

"Go away," Cara snaps. "Nobody likes you."

"You neither." Keyan smirks. "For a good reason, too. You're so ridiculous, and your face looks like a broccoli patch."

"Shut up, Keyan," Cara hisses, her face red.

"I don't believe in lying," Keyan says, "unlike many others."

"Go away _right_ now, or I'll - "

"You'll what?" Keyan mocked. "You'll fight me? I'd like to see you try!"

Cara launches herself towards Keyan, fist outstretched. Her weight makes him stumble slightly, but then he retaliates, punching her in the jaw. She yells, but I can tell it's not a serious injury. But still. No one hurts my friends. _No one_.

I run down the street toward them. Keyan sees me at the last second, just soon enough to raise an arm to fend off my attack. Not enough time to make it that worthwhile, though. And also, with one arm raised, it's easier to get him off of Cara.

I swing a punch at him. He returns one, and I duck. Then Cara joins the fight, fists flailing, feet kicking. The two of us are able to hold Keyan off for a bit. But we both know it won't last.

Keyan gets a grip on Cara, and he pins her to the ground. At the same time, I go over to him, looming over him. He knows I won't give up as easily as many, as most. He knows that if he hurts Cara, it won't be taken as a sign that it's not wise to cross him, but rather as an invitation to war. A war that he might not win. And Keyan, for whom fear is everything, cannot afford to lose a battle.

So, Keyan stares up at me. We're at a stalemate of a sort. He can't hurt Cara, I can't attack him.

"Clear off," I say. "If you clear off, I won't tell anybody. If you don't, if you force me to fight you and beat you, it'll be known all throughout the district that you, the mighty Keyan, lost a fight with a fifteen-year-old. If I were you, I'd just clear off."

Keyan considers this. Then he stands up, grinds his heel into Cara's arm, shoves me backwards, and sprints off.

I help Cara to her feet. She brushes herself off and thanks me.

"Better go back home now," I say. "The reaping's not that soon, but still, better early than late."

"Yeah," Cara says. "Well, see you there. Good luck. Maybe Keyan'll get reaped."

"That'd be awesome," I say. "Good luck."

I turn around and go back home, to the house in Victor's Village that my mom got back when she won the Hunger Games.

Amelia greets me at the door. She's my thirteen-year-old sister, and she's really sweet. She hates violence so much, she's never even picked up an axe, and in District 7, that's really unusual. My father, who has rigorously trained me in the case that I'm reaped - my mother's worst fear - has given up on Amelia a while ago. She is simply against violence.

"How was your walk?" Amelia asks.

I hesitate, not wanting to tell her about the fight. "It was good, thanks," I say. "I saw Cara."

"Cool," she says.

Amelia goes off to her room, and I go to mine. I change into my reaping clothes and prepare for the reaping.

* * *

_Kestra Deelin's POV:_

I stare into space, as I have been doing for the last twenty minutes, occasionally adjusting my skirt. I'm praying. Yes, praying. My mother's family has been religious for centuries, not stopping even when America died, and most people left their faiths. The people, they betrayed God. Shameful. But my mother's family didn't. They were loyal, always. One day, my mother says, God will reward us for staying loyal while nearly all others left him, betrayed him. I can't wait for that day. My mother says I am being greedy, selfish, but it is true.

I pray, begging God not to pick my name out of the bowl. Mother says that if I am bad, God will punish me by picking my name. But I am fourteen, have endured two reapings, and my name has never been called.

"Kestra, we are leaving," Mother calls.

"I am coming!" I call back. I walk to the door, where Mother and Father are waiting. Father isn't religious, really, but after living with Mother for fifteen years, he knows to pretend. May God pardon him when He takes His revenge.

We walk to the reaping and sign in.

"May God protect you," Mother murmurs to me. "May He make sure that it is not your name called."

"Thank you," I whisper in reply. Then I go to my section.

The reaping is beginning. Soon, the escort is calling the names.

_Please_, I pray. _Please, not me._

"Kestra Deelin!"

I gasp. How did this happen? How did God let this happen?

Maybe someone will volunteer. I don't have many friends at school - people think I am weird because I recognize God, and believe in him - but maybe someone will volunteer. Maybe _God_ will volunteer.

But alas, no one volunteers. I sigh, and make my way to the stage, my eyes brimming with tears. The escort helps me up and goes to the other bowl.

"Archer Lux!"

There is some scuffling from the fifteen-year-olds' section. A boy is pushed out of the section. He is barefoot. He looks shocked, but he somehow masters his expression. He walks to the stage.

"May God protect us," I whisper to him as we shake hands.


	9. District 8 Reaping

_Patches O'Neil's POV:_

"Patches, I got some food!"

I turn around. It's Nylon, of course. She's always the one who teases me about my...diet.

"Patches, you hungry?" Nylon asks. She holds out a strip of meat. "From Ten. From Ten! Real meat, Patches! You hungry?"

"No, thanks," I say. "I'm sure you'd be willing to actually give it to me had I asked for it."

"Oh I'd be willing!" Nylon grins. "Why don't you want it? Oh, wait...that's right, I forgot, you're a veggie!"

"Vegetarian," I correct. "Yeah, like you didn't remember."

"Well, it's a shame," Nylon says, stuffing the meat into her mouth. "It's great."

"Quite a shame when you get meat juice all over your dress," I say.

"Hmm?" Nylon looks down at her reaping dress. "Won't happen, Patchy."

"Good for you," I say. "Well, _I'm_ heading over to the reaping now. _You_ can be late and go to prison, I don't care."

"No, your daddy'll get me out," Nylon says.

My dad, the mayor, doesn't pay attention to those things, she knows that. "In your dreams he will," I say.

"Whatever," Nylon says, and we head over to the square together.

* * *

_Luda Kein's POV:_

My twin, Pessa, and I go to our section in the square. It's reaping day, our fourth. We're fifteen. A happy year. Sort of. Not really.

"I hope you're reaped," Pessa tells me.

"In hope you're reaped, and you cry like a baby," I respond.

"No, that's your job," Pessa tells me. "_You're_ the baby. I'm ten minutes older than you."

"I hope you cry, and the peacekeepers have to drag you to the stage," I shoot back at her.

"Well, _I_ hope you sob your way through the Games."

"And_ I_ hope you're killed in the most painful way."

"And _I_ hope that..."

We do this all the time. It's usually not reaping themed, but we spend hours each day wishing horrible fates upon each other. Pessa and I have a huge rivalry. Maybe that's why we're so close. Probably. We're not known for having big tempers most of the time, but around each other, we're violent, competitive, and snappy.

Pessa and I continue with this through the mayor's speech, just quieter, of course. When it's time to chose the names, however, we both shut up entirely and remind oursleves not to shake. No weakness must be shown when we're in front of each other.

The escort lady approaches the bowl on shuddering tilts. She draws out a name.

"Luda Kein!"

No, really? My name? Wow, such luck. Pessa gets everything she wants, clearly. I shoot her a hard glance, letting her know that I still hate her and wish her to die in the most painful way I can imagine. She gives me a pleased look and a thumb's up. Yeah, that's Pessa. I'm sure I would've done the same thing had our positions been switched, though.

I groan and make my way to the stage. I'm helped up, and I shake off the peacekeepers' hands. The escort lady reaches for the next name.

"Patches O'Neil!" she shouts.

O'Neil? Like, Mayor O'Neil? I recognize the boy who comes up from the seventeen-year-olds' section. I see him often with the mayor. He's the mayor's son. The mayor is white and looks astonished.

I shake Patches's hand, then look back at Pessa. She grins cheekily at me.

_I hope you die._


	10. District 9 Reaping

_Maia Thresher's POV:_

**_Flashback_**

_"As you know," the cult leader said, "despite our annual ritual of sacrificing a male and giving his blood to the earth, our harvests have been...quite poor. It had seemed to me that we are not as faithful as we should be. But this is not the case. I have found the answer! We have had such poor harvests because the Earth-mother is angry that the ritual has been done in secret. It is our responsibility to change this. I predict that one of our cult members will be reaped for the Games this year. This chosen adolescent must carry out our ritual in front of the entire Panem! Then, and only then, will we again have bountiful harvests."_

**_Flashback end_**

Mother, a doctor, is making a remedy for a sickness, just like she does every day. She works with herbs because we don't have the money for advanced ingredients, and also, they're her specialty. I stare at the tuber she is grinding into a fine powder.

"Mother, what's that?" I ask.

"Hmm?" She turns to look at me. "You mean the katniss?"

"The tuber thing, yeah."

"It's called katniss," she says. "It grows all over Panem. It's really good for herbal remedies - provides a nice background, you know. Why do you ask?"

"Um..." I can't find an answer. "No reason."

"Well then," Mother says. "Who do you think's going to be reaped?"

I remember last month, when Earth's Honored Daughter, the leader of the fertility cult, made her announcement, and predicted that someone from the cult would be reaped and have to make the sacrifice.

"I don't know," I say. "I just hope it isn't me or Reina."

"Reina," my mother sighs. "Maia, Reina isn't a native to the cult. She needs to prove her worth."

"Just because she wasn't born a member doesn't mean she should have to die!"

"It'll be an honor to be reaped," Mother says. "The person will reveal our traditions to all of Panem!"

"Yeah," I say. "Well, I should go and get ready. I'm meeting Reina in twenty minutes."

.

Twenty minutes later, I meet Reina by the square. She greets me. We live together now, because she joined the cult, but she always leaves early on reaping day.

"Hey, Maia," Reina says. "Do you ever get the feeling that...that the cult's a little...silly?"

"Silly?" I say. "Um...is this the place for this?" Nearly eighty percent of the district is part of the cult, and they, well, don't like having the cult questioned.

"Not really, but still," Reina insisted. "Why are we shedding the blood of males each year? The blood helps the ground? Ha! I mean, doesn't it sound ridiculous?"

"Well...it's blood," I say uncertainly. I honestly don't believe blood has many properties that may help harvesting, but they say it does, so I go along with it. I'm easily persuaded. It's likely that Reina will convince me that the cult's silly.

"It's blood, so what?" Reina laughed. "How does blood help the earth? It's ridiculous, what we do each year."

"Yeah," I say, thinking about it. "Blood probably doesn't really help the ground...so why do we even make the sacrifice?"

Reina shrugs, and we tune in as the reaping begins.

* * *

_Jax Samuel's POV:_

Alice waves to me as I go to the fifteen-year-olds' section. Alice is my best friend, easily. She's an orphan, and she lives in the community home. She's really nice. Even the peacekeepers like her.

"Good luck, Jax," Alice calls. "Please, don't get reaped! Stay safe! For me!"

I frown at her choice of words, then wave back. She reminds me a bit of my sister, sometimes.

My sister...who I used to have. She brought home a bunch of flowers one day a few years ago. Father was very suspicious. He beat her to death, then pretended a mugger did it. He even pretended to cry at her funeral. Well, we couldn't afford a real funeral, but it was when we buried her ashes. After her death, I got a rose tatoo right above my heart.

Alice blends into the crowd, just like my sister always did, fading into the background, disappearing.

The reaping is beginning. Eventually, the escort takes the stage.

"Maia Thresher!" she calls.

A girl comes out of the fourteen-year-olds. She looks surprised, but then a smile comes over her face. A smile. Weird. I'd have thought I'd be the only one to be happy to be reaped.

"Helson Everon!"

"I volunteer," I say before I can change my mind. I have to get away from my parents. My father, especially. He is cruel. He killed my sister. If I win, I can get away from him. If I lose, too.

I go up to the stage and give them my name. Then, I shake Maia's hand. She stares at me, an odd look on her face. Like she was already wondering how she would take me down.


	11. District 10 Reaping

_Draxton Renaldo's POV:_

I live in the community home of District 10. I have lived here since my parents, both age eighteen, were reaped for the same Games. Many times, I have witnessed bullying, and one frequent target is a six-year-old girl, Silla.

Silla looks, devastated, at her plate. She had spilled her water all over her food, which now is drenched. She starts to cry. There is never any second serving in the community home. Not in District 10. Food is always scarce, and the community home is always packed with orphans. Silla knows that she just lost her meal. Not that it was much to lose: just a piece of bread and a small bowl of soup.

"Again?" one of the older kids laughs. "Wow, Silla, do you _like_ wasting food?"

"I think she does," a fifteen-year-old girl says. "_I think I'll spill my water! Oops, I got my food wet! I didn't see that coming!"_

A lot of other kids laughed at that.

"Whoa, guys, everyone spills their water from time to time," I say. "I've seen most of you do it, too. Don't laugh at her for it. She's only six."

Silla looks at me, grateful. I smile back, and her my bread. I'm known for giving younger children food, as well as standing up for them.

"Draxton," someone says. "You standing up for the baby? Why're you standing up for her? She just ruined the tablecloth!"

"It was a rag before," I point out.

"Not important. Why stand up for that baby? Just gives you a bad reputation, Mr. I'm So Helpful."

"I try to be helpful to everyone," I say.

"I think you love her. Ooh! You were _protecting_ her! You _love_ her!"

"At least I don't bully her, like you do," I mumble. "And I'm seven years older than her, too."

"Oh, so you admit it! At last! Should we organize your wedding?"

"Shut up," I mumble, my face red, I'm sure.

"Should we buy her a ring for you? Should we rent the Justice Building for this _wonderful_ event, the marriage of the two most _valiant_ people in the district?"

"Shut up," another voice says. I look up. It's Alex, my fifteen-year-old friend. Alex has stood by me and helped me out since I first came to the community home.

"Oh, you too? Are you the best man? Should we buy you a pink tuxedo?"

Alex growls. He can be really sweet and soft at times, but he's pretty tough when he wants to be, like now.

"No, not pink? How about bright yellow? With ribbons? Pink ribbons? Or maybe you'd prefer a dress?"

"Shut _up_!" I yell, pounding my fist into the table. "Just shut up with all of this!"

Everyone stares at me, astonished. It's rare that I get mad; usually I'm kind, and always trying to be helpful.

"I'm - I'm sorry," I mutter, looking down at the table, at my empty soup bowl. "Didn't mean to get mad."

Everyone goes back to their conversations, but Silla's situation is forgotten.

.

Alex and I walk to the square together. It's my second reaping, and his fourth.

"I bet Silla's really grateful," Alex says. "I mean, you gave her your bread, and stood up for her."

"She's always a target," I say. "They always love teasing her. It's not right."

"Maybe they're just jealous that she doesn't have worry about being reaped today," Alex suggests.

"Maybe," I say. "Unlike us..."

We sign in, and enter the square.

"Good luck," Alex says.

"You too," I respond. "You only have eight entries, they probably won't pick you."

"See you after, not reaped," Alex says.

We go to our respective sections, and a short while later, the mayor begins his speech, and soon after that, the reaping starts.

The escort reaches for the girl's name.

"Hellia Leston!"

A thirteen-year-old, who I know from school, stumbles to the stage, her eyes brimming with tears.

"Morsoe Jassin!"

A scared looking boy starts sobbing as he moves towards the stage.

"No, please!" he sobs. "Don't make me go!"

A peacekeeper grumbles something as he drags the boy to the stage. I stare at the terrified boy, and can't help myself. I can't let him go to his death. I can save him. It's part of my nature to help when I can. And here I can help.

"I volunteer!" I say. The word are foreign to my mouth, I've never even heard them used in this district, not in any reaping. They're just part of a strange, unused concept known as volunteering. "I volunteer!"

I go to the stage. The boy sobs with relief, and goes back to his section. Only now do I realize the gravity of my situation. I have just volunteered for death.

I shake Hellia's hand, and I see the fear in her eyes. I wish I could comfort her. I wish I could promise her that everything will be all right, that she will make it out of the arena alive and well.

But I'm not a liar.


	12. District 11 Reaping

_Orange Skyla's POV:_

Mother huddles next to the dead oven, muttering to herself. I can't quite make out what she is saying, just a few words: "Cold. So cold. So cold..." She clutches at the oven, pressing buttons. This might have had some effect a years ago, before Father was mugged and killed, when it still worked. But now, all it is a black box that my mother huddles next to when it is cold. And today, though it is the middle of the summer, it is cold. Really cold. Maybe 50 degrees. In District 11, that's crazy.

"Why don't you put on a sweater?" I suggest, approaching her carefully. She's mentally ill, if you haven't already gathered that. Sometimes it's better not to disturb her, but I don't want her getting sick like she does in the winter. Especially not like in the winter two years ago. That was the coldest winter I can remember. We both got sick. I thought we would both die, but in the end, we got better.

Mother stares at me, then buries her face in the cold black box that once served as our oven. I beg her to get into a sweater, but she has forgotten me. She is withdrawn from the world, uncomprehending. It is a great fear of mine that I will develope a mental illness like hers.

"Mother," I sigh, "it's reaping day. Suppose I get reaped, and you're sick. You'll die." I know I won't be picked, but it's my only leverage. And I'm not as certain this year that I won't be picked. I have thirty entries - one is mandatory, and four are tesserae. I'm still pretty sure that I won't be picked, though.

Mother mutters something about slips and bowls. She tugs the oven off of the shelf, and hauls it to the room. I follow her, and help her pull on a sweater. Then, she collapses on the bed, and I put on my reaping clothes: a white shirt and black jeans.

There is a knock at the door. I go to answer it. It's my friend, Jake, to whom I owe my life, I guess. When my father died eight years ago, when I was nine, Jake sustained Mother and me until I got a job, giving us food. Without him, Mother and I may both have died.

"Do you need help?" Jake asks, nodding toward Mother, who has come up behind me.

"Yeah, thanks," I say, smiling slightly, as I only do around Jake.

Jake and I help Mother walk to the square. There, we find a woman willing to help her through the reaping. We have to convince her that Mother won't be much trouble, but she agrees to watch her.

"Thanks, man," I say to Jake as we walk to our section.

"No problem."

* * *

_Teal Gray's POV:_

"Teal, it's time for the reaping," Mother says. "Please get your dress on."

I shudder as I remember the reaping. Why did the Capitol have to institute the Games? Why do they love violence and death so much? The world is bad enough without organizing more deaths.

"Mother, will I be reaped?" I ask, afraid to hear the answer.

"Did you say your prayers?" Mother asks. "Yes? Good. Then no, you will not be reaped."

"And I took no tesserae," I add. I wanted to get more food for the family, despite the heightened risk of being picked, but my parents didn't let me.

"You won't be picked," Mother assures me. "God will not allow it. And if you _are_ picked, He will see to it that you win."

I smile gratefully, and slip on my yellow reaping dress. The dress my mother wore for her first reaping, and my aunt for her first.

I pick up my doll, Agie, and stroke her ginger colored hair. Then, I follow my mother to the door, where Father is waiting.

"Teal," he says. "Teal, don't be afraid, you won't be reaped." I see fear in his eyes, though, and know he will be devastated if I am.

The three of us walk to the reaping, and we sign in. Instinctively, I follow my parents to the side, but then I remember. This year, I am eligible for the reaping. For the Games. For death at the hands of the Capitol.

Father escorts me to my section, and we grasp hands. He wishes me luck, and I watch him leave.

A while later, the reaping begins - first the mayor's speech, then the Capitol video. And then the escort introduces herself, and goes over to the bowl...

I only have one entry. Surely she will not pick me.

She takes out a slip.

Someone's fate is already sealed. Someone's path has been set. Someone is destined to die. Who?

She unfolds the slip.

_Not me, not me, not me, not me, oh God, not me, don't let it be my name she reads..._

"Teal Gray!"

I stare at her, horrified. Teal Gray. That's...my name. Me. Oh, God, how could you let this happen to me?

I move to the stage, and as I do so, I drop my doll. I don't realize this until I reach the stage and see a limp form on the ground.

I spot Father's face in the crowd, streaming with tears. I realize that mine is, too.

"Orange Skyla!"

A seventeen-year-old comes to the stage, face completely blank, emotionless. He is tall, perhaps six feet. Compared to my four feet...I don't stand a chance.

I shake his hand, and whisper, "God be with you." He stares at me, then out at the crowd. I can tell that there is someone he can't bear to leave. I have never known this feeling before, nor the one of complete certainty that I will never return to a place. I know I don't stand a chance.

Oh, God, how could you do this to me?


	13. District 12 Reaping

_Tee Rahman's POV:_

"Twenty tesserae, huh?" my sister, Loo, says, shaking her head. "Way to boost up your name count, Tee. Twenty-one entries at age 12. Really nice. I only have nine more entries than you, and I'm fourteen."

"They didn't even give me all the food," I mumble. "I need the food. But they didn't give it to me."

"Another reason you shouldn't have taken all that tesserae," Loo points out. "It wasn't worth it."

I shrug. Why argue? I didn't get the promised food, end of story. Nothing I can do. I'm just Tee Rahman, baby of the Rahman family, poorest family in the nation, it seems.

"Let's go get reaped," Loo says. "It's nearly two."

"I don't want to get reaped, Loo!" I cry, hanging back. "Don't make me go!"

"It's mandatory," Loo says. "However much I'd like to leave you here for the peacekeepers, we have to go. We're going to be late."

Loo and I trudge out of the house and to the square, where we sign in and part. I go to my section, and look at the emaciated boys around me. Suppose one of them gets picked? Well, at least it won't be me if that happens.

Me...if I'm picked...

The tears are waiting. I just know it.

* * *

_Poppy Coalton's POV:_

"Plume!" I yell. "Plume, come back here!"

Plume's lanky frame appears around the corner. "Problem, Poppy?"

I glare at my 13-year-old sister, furious for the first time in a while. "Plume, I _know_ it was you!"

Plume gives me an innocent look. "You know _what_ was me?" Like she's really in the dark. She's a better liar than me, but that's really not saying anything. I am among the world's worst liars.

"One word: _tripwire_." Like she needs my one-word clue.

"That was three words," Plume points out.

Typical Plume. Avoids the point, but points out a flaw in it. "Plume, I know it was you."

"The tripwire?" Plume grins. "My idea, yeah, but you can blame my friends, too. They helped me set it up."

Her friends. Plume is part of the bad-kids gang. She has been for years, now. She's quite a rebel, and fits in with them.

"Plume, do you know how much my hands hurt? Look!" I show her my scraped and bloody hands. "Not cool."

"Not my fault you tripped over it." Plume gives me a grin, showing me her chipped tooth.

"It is _so_ your fault, Plume," I say. "Don't even _try_ to argue with that."

"You're no fun," Plume complains. Then she runs off to the square in her dirty dress, and I'm thinking about how it would serve her right if she was reaped...

_Whoa_, I tell myself._ Not cool. She's your sister._

I look down at my dress, and brush off the gravel. I look at my hands and sigh. I hope they don't get infected.

.

Effie, our escort here in District 12, reaches for the bowl. I am fourteen, I should only have three entries. Unfortunately, though, I need tesserae. I close my eyes as she reaches for the bowl, and hope and hope and hope that it won't be me...

"Poppy Coalton!"

Poppy Coalton. That's me. She called...my name. I stumble to the stage, thinking about how much I would prefer to stay with Plume and her jokes, and how much I do _not_ want to participate in a free-for-all killing contest. I find Plume's face in the crowd, and Asher's, my 10-year-old brother's...

"Tee Rahman!"

Rahman? I know Loo Rahman. His sister? Probably.

Tee - I see him, now - starts to cry. He is hyperventilating, and needs to be escorted to the stage by peacekeepers. We shake hands. His is trembling. I stare into his frightened eyes, and know that neither of us has a chance in these Games.

* * *

**A/N: I'm making a poll where you can vote on which tribute you like best. Please vote.**


	14. Chariot Rides

**A/N: Done with the reapings, finally! Also, I want to remind you to vote on my poll and nominate your favorite tribute! Well, not nominate, but say who it is.**

**I wasn't sure when I'd get to update, and I'm not sure when my next update will be. My older brother is hogging the computer for some project of his.**

* * *

_District 9: Maia Thresher's POV:_

For the hundredth time, I stare at Jax - my fellow tribute - and imagine his blood drenching the ground, providing a good harvest. I picture myself above him, holding a weapon, having completed the ritual I came here to do. That's how Mother told me to think of it.

Thinking about it, it would probably be a bit hard to kill him and drain his blood while he's wearing that black thorn-covered body suit, but I could probably pull it off. Maybe if he didn't have any weapons. And was unconscious, of course. Then, maybe. Good thing he won't be wearing that in the Games.

If I was wearing that in the Games, I'd be a lot harder to beat. I could complete the ritual with ease, and win the Games. But my stylist thought that I was not the type for thorny black suits. And especially not ones with openings over the heart. Jax's suit is designed to show off a rose tatoo above his heart.

"Hey, Jax," I say suddenly. "Why do you have a rose tatoo?"

He stares at me. His odd black eyes - he says he has a weird gene that lets blood flow in them, but doesn't impair his vision - flick away from mine. "My sister," he mutters.

"Cool," I say.

It's not that my costume isn't cool. I'm wearing a green bodysuit under a dress. Well, not really a dress, but rather a composition of amber strands. They are designed to flow out behind me like streams of wheat.

But that doesn't compare with Jax's costume, or those of some of the other tributes', which I am starting to notice.

* * *

_District 6: Damour Ledd's POV:_

I am intimidated by the other tributes. There, I admitted it. _Intimidated. _No exaggeration. None at all.

Well, not _all_ of the other tributes. Not Hayley, for example. She's not strong, no, not at all. This is the case with a bunch of the other tributes, as well. And I know I wouldn't be scared of _me_. Not me, little thirteen-year-old Dammy from District 6.

I'm wearing a yellow jumpsuit, similar to the one Hayley is wearing, but a bit more masculine. It's the color of a taxi, maybe a school bus. They're everywhere in our district, the transportation district.

The District 1 tributes are going out. The girl - I can't seem to remember her name, but it's something I'd heard before, as a name - wears a strange, feathered outfit, with an elaborate bird-like headpiece. The boy - Glint, is it? - wears a silver suit studded with jewels. He's one of the scarier tributes.

The District 2 tributes follow them. They're siblings, I think. Fabian, and...and...I don't remember. I'm really bad with remembering names. Anything, really.

From District 3, the girl wears a black and silver corset thing, and a skirt. The silver part gleams like polished metal. I'm reminded of a sword, and I wince. Swords. Death. Blood. Hunger Games. The boy wears a black costume with neon lights in tubes.

The boy from District Four, who is really very intimidating - the most, probably, out of all twenty-four tributes - is dressed up as a whale. This sounds silly, and maybe even _cute_ - if not on a sixteen-year-old, and a rather big one at that - but trust me, it's intimidating, too. It sounds ridiculous, I know. An intimidating whale costume. Take my word, though, this tribute'll be a...problem.

The girl from Four wears your typical mermaid costume, with the bikini shell top and everything. She has on a shimmering floor-length skirt. Her whole body is glittering. She looks strong, too. But not as strong as the boy.

The girl from Five is even younger than me. She wears a purple dress with glowing stars and symbols on it. Like, Five harnesses power from everything. The message is a bit subtle, but I can decipher it. The boy I recognize from the reaping, surprisingly. It must be the strange blue hair. His purple vest matches the girl's. His hair is dyed yellow at the tips.

We're going out. I shake, too nervous to do much besides tightly grip the side of the chariot. The crowd claps and cheers for us, but I know we're nothing much. Our district rarely is.

Eventually, we get to the place where the president waits for us. Our chariot follows District Five's in a few laps around the fountain. I watch as more chariots fall in behind us.

The tributes from District Seven are dressed as trees, like they are every year.

The girl from Eight wears a dress made of loose streams of fabric. The boy has on a huge bow tie that is shedding pieces of fabric.

The tributes from District 9 pass by. The girl is staring around. Her eye catches mine, her face twitches, and I'm left wondering what she is thinking.

The girl from 10 really is pathetic. I'm not really in a position to be talking here, I know that, but she's...even worse that me, if that's possible. The boy beside her stands stoically in his rancher's outfit, but hers in covered in tear stains. Even _I_ know this is a terrible place to cry. The worst place, even, maybe.

Both tributes from Eleven wear a farmer's outfit. It's overused, really, the farmer idea. But not as overused as the trees from District Seven.

I look to the next chariot, and...stare. And then...pull my eyes away, slightly embarrassed. Because the tributes - _both_ tributes - are completely...naked. Naked, and covered with...is that coal dust?

Wow...lucky them. I'd hate to have their stylist. I imagine myself, completely naked, covered with, say, greasing oil from my district. I avert my eyes.

Luckily, President Snow has taken the welcomes us, and salutes our _very_ willing sacrifices. Uh huh. Sure, Snow. He reminds us that twenty-three of us are soon to die. I'm relieved when the chariots finally start moving again, and they take us to the training center where we will spend the next few days of our lives.


	15. Training Day One

_District 4: Luxtia Emerald's POV:_

At ten, training begins. I have not yet met with the other Career tributes, besides Aquamarine, and she doesn't really count, considering that she told me explicitly that she wouldn't be joining. As we are dismissed, the boy from One is the first one I meet.

"You're Luxtia?" he says brusquely, picking up a sword.

"Yeah," I say. "Call me Luxe."

"Luxe, then," he says. "I'm Glint. District One. Good with swords, good with spears."

"Swords kill faster," I point out. "Bloodier death, too."

"Yes," he agrees. "And that is _very _-

**_Flashback_**

_A sword whips through the air. The man falls down at his desk. Dead. The blood is everywhere. The peacekeepers will soon arrive. I am no longer in the room. I am not a suspect._

**_Flashback end_**

- important."

I shake off the flashback. I've been having them for years, since I was seven, and my parents put me in District Four's harshest training program. The flashback is of a...a time where I could not control my actions.

"I mean," Glint continues, "what's the fun of killing if there isn't lots of blood, and no screams?"

"True," I say with a slight smile. This guy and me, we think alike. "So, you're in the alliance?"

There's no need to question what alliance I'm referring to. "I am," Glint says with a cruel smile. "But the girl isn't. A shame."

"There are always others," I say. "Aquamarine isn't either, though she seems to have a good amount of skill."

"Disgraces," Glint says with a look of disgust. "Disgraces, I tell you."

* * *

_District 2: Chayenne Locke's POV:_

When we are dismissed, Fabian and I head over to the weapons. The spears station is our first stop. I hurl one toward the target. It hits the target, but on the fourth ring. I groan. Spears just aren't my specialty. Fabian takes a turn. He gets closer than I do, and I congratulate him.

We continue with this or half an hour or so, and I manage to get a few bull's-eyes. Eventually, I suggest we move on.

"Axes?" Fabian suggests.

"Bow and arrow," I say. "Come on, Fabian..."

"No," he says suddenly. "Neither. Swords. Come on, Chay, we have to go to the swords station."

"Why?" I ask. "We can split up, how about that? We can go to the swords station later. I'm going to the bow and arrows now. Bye."

I turn around and take a step, but Fabian grabs my arm and pulls me back. "No, Chay, it's not a matter of preference. We _need_ to go there. Look."

I frown and turn around. At the swords station, two boys are hacking at dummies. "Why?"

"Chayenne, they're the boys from One and Four, I think," Fabian says. "If we're going to ally with them, we need to meet them beforehand."

* * *

_District 2: Fabian Locke's POV:_

Chay and I walk over to the swords station. The boys there turn around to inspect us.

"District 2, right?" one asks.

"Yep," I confirm. "I'm Fabian. This is Chayenne."

"Luxe," the boy returns. "From Four."

"More for the Careers?" the other boy asks. He's buff, and looks like a great person to hav on your side.

"Yeah," Chay says. "Are you?"

"_Yes,_" the unnamed boy says. "Of course I am. I'm Glint. District One. The girls aren't joining us. This appears to be the complete alliance, if there aren't respectable others willing to join."

"Maybe a small group is better," I say. "Fewer people to share with."

"Strength of numbers is important," Luxe says. "We need all the manpower we can get."

"And also, if there are any other strong tributes, we should hope they join us," Glint says.

"I hope there aren't," Chay says.

* * *

_District 9: Jax Samuel's POV:_

There they are. The Careers. I hope I can join them, then kill them in their sleep. I hope I can join. It is necessary to seem as brutal and strong as possible. I pick up a sword from the stand. I aim, and hurl it at the target. Bingo. Bull's eye. Perfect. My aim is great, though I am not great with swords in general.

My next swords are also close to the middle. It's not like I do this all the time in District 9. No, there, we throw sticks and rocks and other things at crudely sketched targets. Apart from the weight, swords really aren't that different from some things we used.

From a quick glance to the side, I discover that a few Careers are already watching me from their targets a few meters away. But they don't offer to let me join them.

Next, I go to the track beside the weapons. I listen as the helper gives me a few instructions, and sets the timer. I take a deep breath, and then I'm off. I'm fast, I guess. When I finish, the helper congratulates me, saying I scored in the top 15 percentile.

.

Lunch is next. I fill my plate and sit down at an empty table. I notice the Careers watching me again, and talking among themselves. I hear a few words. "Strong." "Fast." "Not enough people." "Fine." "You go." "No, you." "Chayenne..."

Finally, the girl rolls her eyes, and calls out to me: "Come over here!"

Barely able to contain my feeling of victory, I rush to their table. If they let me join, they'll be done soon, all of them... The boy from Two offers me the seat next to him, and I take it.

"Yes?" I say politely, like I don't know why they invited me over.

"Jax, right?" the boy from One says. "I saw your name on the board."

"So, look, Jax," the girl says, "we were thinking that you are...good. Good enough." One of the boys winces, like he doesn't like complimenting someone from another district. "And so, we were thinking that you could be...useful. We could use more people."

"You want me to join?" I ask. She shrugs, and I say, "Sure. I'm in."

"Good choice," one of the boys says. "I'm Glint."

Glint introduces me to Fabian, Luxe, and Chayenne. My new allies. Who I will kill, in time.


	16. Training Day Two

_District 11: Orange Skyla's POV:_

I never though I'd accell with a bow, but I'm a lot better than I thought I'd be. Really, I thought I'd be bad. But I found that I actually have hope with a bow. Maybe that's an understatement, even. And knot-tying, too. I do actually have a bit of practice with the latter, so I manage to fix a decent snare. The trainer congratulates me, then turns to help another tribute, from Nine, I think.

A sound reaches my ears, one that stands out from the others. I turn, and see the boy from Seven ripping open a dummy with a knife, and emitting a loud yell. Then, he turns and lassoes another, and gives it the same treatment.

"Give the poor dummy a break, man," I call over to him.

He looks over and gives me a small grin. "They're here for a reason," he responds.

I nod, and go fetch a dummy of my own, and tie it up. I bind its feet together, and practice my knots. When it is reduced to a pile of knotted rope, I get a bow and do some target practice.

Something bangs to the ground, and I look up, startled. A huge boy stands above me, wielding a sword. The dummy's head lies by me, separate from the body.

"Get your own dummy," I say, annoyed. "This is mine. The dummies are over there. Go get your own."

"Why should I?" he says, a cruel grin on his face. "Make me."

I stand up, gripping my bow tightly. I shouldn't get into a fight here, but he's getting me mad. "Look, the dummies are over _there_. There are enough for you to have your own. This one is _mine_."

The boy cuts off another few inches. "Yeah, but I don't want one of those dummies. I want _this_ one."

"What's the point?" I say, irritated.

I don't give him a chance to respond. I grab a fistful of arrows and attack the dummy, carving it up, and practicing my hands-on skills. The boy puts in a few swipes of his sword, too, and the dummy is soon reduced to a lump of scraps. The boy from Seven watches on, then turns and continues assaulting his dummy.

* * *

_District 12: Poppy Coalton's POV:_

I've been hunting for something I'm good at all day, and I finally found something: a pickaxe. It's not like, oh, look, I've never seen a pickaxe before, and now suddenly I'm great with one! In Twelve, we sometimes use pickaxes in the mines. Sometimes we practice using them, but of course, we don't learn how to throw them, or kill people with them. That's what I'm trying to accomplish right now.

I hurl the pickaxe as far as I can across the room. At first, it lands depressingly close to me, but eventually it reaches farther and farther. I'm really feeling like I accomplished something worthwhile today.

.

At lunchtime, I sit at a table with the boy from Eight, Patches, who's seventeen, and probably has more of a chance in the Games than me - except that I can use a pickaxe! He has spiky reddish-brown hair and dark green eyes. He is somewhat muscled, and I saw him in the gym - he's skilled with a number of weapons.

"What've you been doing today?" I ask him.

"Training," he responds mildly. "Poison, primarily. That could be useful. I've been running a lot. And some weapons, too. I've been practicing with knives. You?"

"I'm decent with pickaxes," I say. "And they often have pickaxes at the cornucopia, so I might have a chance."

"Do you have any allies?" he asks.

"No," I sigh. "A shame. It could be useful."

"Well, then..." Patches swallows. "Um, would you like to be allies? I don't expect to get any other allies. I could ally with Luda...we sort of know each other...but she's not really someone who wants allies."

He's probably reluctant to ask a fourteen-year-old girl to ally with him. He's not doing it because I'm _good_, I bet, but rather because he has no other choice... But then again, neither do I.

"Sure," I say, smiling slightly. We shake hands, and then it's time to go back out.

* * *

_District 9: Maia Thresher's POV:_

Two days already, and not once have I gone to a weapon station. Instead, I've been focusing on fire building, snares, camouflage, and identifying plants. My mentor has been instructing me on how to use this knowledge in the Games. I'm getting hopeful.

I've met a girl who I think I may ask to ally with: Belle Davidson, from District 3. She's been hiding in the background today and yesterday, clearly hoping people won't notice her presence. But we're often at the same station, and one time, when identifying plants, we even get into a conversation.

"You're really good with the weights," I say. "I'm pretty weak, physically, so I'm really bad with them."

"Thanks," Belle says, smiling. "You're good at this station here."

"My mom was an apothecary," I say. "She worked a lot with plants. I picked up a few skills."

"Lucky," Belle says. "I wish I had some other skill that I learned in my district."

A while later, we both go to the fire-building station. Or rather, I go, and she follows, reluctant. There, I manage to build a decent fire, and Belle stands back, looking nervous.

"Come on," I urge her. "Give it a try. It'll be really useful. If there's a cold arena, fires will be a must."

Belle gulps. "Sorry, I'm, um, just a bit...afraid of fires."

"Really?" I look at her, interested. "Why?"

"Um..." Belle shifts, clearly uncomfortable. "Well, my parents...died...in a fire."

"Oh. Well, come here, I'll show you how to make one, in case you ever have to."

Belle takes a few tentative steps forward, and I show her the easiest way I know to make a fire. When the fire finally springs to life, she jumps back.

"Well, we can always hope it's a warm arena," I say, shrugging. She nods in agreement, and I can feel a friendship developing. No more words are exchanged, but we both that in the arena, we will inevitably be allies.


	17. Training Day Three

_District 5: Victor Nigel Horninius's POV:_

My mentor told me not to show off. Ha. Like I could possibly manage that. He told me to hide my skills and come off as weak. Why would I do that? If there's one thing I'm not, it's weak. Why would I ever pretend to not be something I pride myself on being? I cannot picture myself going solely to survival stations, and ignoring the weapons.

My first stop today is the sword station. I grab a sword and attack a dummy the way I see some of the Careers doing. Painful as it is to admit, they're better at it than I am, but I eventually have a disemboweled dummy at my feet.

I fade into my body, my instincts taking over. I grab a handful of spears and thrust several of them into another dummy. I shove the dummy to the ground, narrowly missing an Avox who has come to clean up the remainders of the old dummy. Another Avox rights my dummy for me, and I continue beating it with my weapons.

I do exactly what my mentor told me not to do. I bet I'll have many alliance requests, and then he'll find out. And that's assuming that Bella doesn't rat on me first. I probably will turn down any alliance request, anyways. I don't need anyone in the arena.

* * *

_District 5: Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari's POV:_

If there's one station I'm really good at, it's the camouflage station. I find the perfect colors and pattern that I'd need to blend into a field of flowers. I paint the pattern on my leg, and imagine the scene around it. Home wasn't really full of fields and flowers, but the image brings me back to...other times. Back before I was reaped. Back when my mother was still here. Back before my brothers died... Back when there was good in the world.

Next, I go to the ropes station. At first I attempt a few snares, with varying levels of success. Then, I begin to weave the rope, almost without thinking about what I was doing. Eventually, I have a decently sized rope weaving. It could function as a blanket in the arena, if I have nothing else, I guess. I'm good at making usable things out of other things.

Next, I try out a few weapons. I'm only mediocre for most of them. My arrows and spears barely skim the target. The swords feel unnatural in my hands. I may not be great with weapons, but my survival skills should make up for that, a bit. Most of the Careers, though great with weapons, are very bad in camouflage, fire-making, and other survival techniques.

* * *

_District 6: Hayley Borban's POV:_

I fail at nearly everything. I nearly light myself on fire when attempting to build a fire. I trip on the racetrack. I get my foot in the snare I was failing at. I will die, I know that only too well. I will die early on. Oh, poor Elsa, poor Elsa. How is she faring, all alone in the community home? Will the other children take care of her, or will they toss her aside they way they always have? What will happen to her now that I am not there to protect her? The Capitol kills more than twenty-three children each year.

I am only decent at one thing: rock climbing. I manage to get the entire way up, that's all I'm saying. I know that need to give Elsa some support some hope. The only way to do that right now is to get a good training score. I know that the only thing I will do is climb this wall, so I need to climb it well.

The stress is getting to me, making me shake with fear and anticipation. The stress may be my downfall. I may mess up because of my need to do this well.

Oh, why was I reaped? My fate is sealed, set. I know I will die. Poor Elsa, she must know this, too.


	18. Gamemaker Sessions

**A/N: candykisses101 has asked me to ask you to submit to her SYOT.**

* * *

_Head Gamemaker: Teylin Ravine's POV:_

Things have been going quite smoothly for my first year. No real fights in the gym, everything going according to plan. And today, each tribute will come in front of us and show us what they're worth. I'm buzzing with excitement. Which tributes will dominate the arena? Which will die pathetic deaths at the start of the Games? I'm hoping for a nice healthy mix of the two.

I settle down in a fluffy chair and wait. I hear a voice in the hallway calling the first tribute from his lunch: "Glint Harson!"

A tall, muscular boy with dark blond hair struts into the gym like he owns the place. Ah, yes. I've always liked the arrogant bull tributes. Glint goes right over to the swords rack. He picks up a sword and faces a dummy. Swiftly, he charges the dummy and lodges the sword in its heart. Then, he emits a loud battle cry and proceeds to amputate the dummy's arm. With a storm of fury, he easily takes down the immobile dummy. Then, he pulls free the sword, and hurls it at a target across the room. Bull's eye. He grabs a few spears, and lodges those deeply in targets, too. Then, he picks up a medicine ball - 300 pounds - and hurls it far across the room. He turns and gives us a curt nod, then leaves the room.

.

The next tribute, the female from District One, Demeter Arisana Marinos, goes straight to the camouflage station. This is a surprise. For the most part, Careers spend most of their time at weapons stations. But no, she doesn't even glance at the other stations. Demeter picks up a few pre-made mixtures and begins to paint a pattern onto her leg. We wait patiently. A few minutes later, she shows us her leg. It looks like...grass. She would blend in quite nicely if she were laying down in a grassy field. But that won't be of much use in these Games, in this arena...ha.

.

The boy from Two, Fabian Locke, is more expectable: he goes over to the axes. He spends his entire time, nearly, throwing axes at the target and molesting dummies. We watch him closely. His aim is impeccable. Well, almost. He'll get a decent score.

.

The girl from Two, Chayenne Locke, goes to the bow-and-arrows station first. She picks up a bow and strings an arrow. She stares at the target for a few seconds, then releases her arrow. It was a pretty good shot, nearly a bull's eye. She groans visibly, and tries again. Over the next few tries, she gets two bull's eyes. Then, she grabs a few knives. Her aim is pretty good. Next, she goes to the plants station. She correctly identifies a bunch of plants. Not bad.

.

The boy from Three, Merlin Avon, ties some knots. Not very impressive. He lifts a few weights, too. He'll get a mediocre score.

.

Belle Davidson from District Three is next. She, too, shows her strength. She's strong for her district. Because, you know, the Careers are usually the strong ones.

.

The boy from Four, Luxtia Emerald, grabs a sword and a dummy. He easily beats the dummy, in the end decapitating it. He'll be good in combat. I can't wait. After a while of entertaining dummy torture, Luxtia comes over to us and requests an...animal. He demands a...a pig. Of course, we have many of those around. Many people here in the Capitol enjoy raising "cute" livestock. I call over an Avox, and demand that a pig be brought. Luxtia shows us a bit more until the pig arrives. Then, he drops his sword down, and approaches the pig. He raises a huge fist and brings it down on the pig's head. The pig goes down. Dead.

.

The girl, Aquamarine Mer, goes over to the weights. She grabs one of the heavier ones, and raises it above her head and back down ten times. Then, she picks up the next heaviest one and hurls it across the room. She plays around with the weights for a few more minutes, then leaves that station and picks up a few spears and tridents. Aquamarine faces a target, and throws the weapons. She's pretty good.

.

From District Five, Victor Nigel Horninius goes straight to the weapons. This is a surprise, needless to say. The tributes from Five usually don't bother even to attempt to use the weapons. But no, Victor goes right over to the weapons. We're all waiting for him to fail, to make a fool of himself, to give us an excuse to give him a low score. But he excells, handling the weapons with ease, surprising us even more.

.

The girl from five, Bellatrix, also goes over to the weapons. She picks up a bow and a quiver of arrows. Surely she will not also be great with weapons. Well, we'll see. Bella's first arrow flies through the air. It clatters to the ground feet away from the target. Knew it. Her next arrows also miss. Her 8th shot hits the target, but barely. She shoots a bit more, tries out some other things, and then leaves.

.

Damour Ledd from District 6 is next. He enters the room, and heads right over to the fire-building station. After a few minutes, he gets a weak fire going. Not so good. Then, he makes a mediocre snare. A few minutes later, he leaves the room.

.

Hayley Borban goes right over to the climbing wall. She makes it partway up, then starts to shudder visibly. I can see that she's crying. We watch intently. Then, Hayley loses her grip and plummets to the floor, where she lays, sobbing, until we drag her out.

.

Archer Lux from Seven grabs a length of rope and makes a noose. Then, he lassoes a dummy. and drags it toward him. He snatches a knife from the rack and slashes the dummy all over. He does a bit more knife work, and then he leaves the room, wiping his brow. I shift in my seat. We've been here for over an hour, and I'm getting a bit impatient.

.

Kestra Deelin is next. She closes her eyes and mutters a prayer. Then, she goes to the fire-building station and kneels down. We wait. Ten minutes later, we're still waiting. Time passes, and she still hasn't made the fire. She grunts in frustration, and goes over to the camouflage station. There, she paints her arm into something resembling an...arm. A bit of mud here and there, too.

.

The boy from 8, Patches, goes over to the track. He sprints around it, using the tactics the running trainer is so famous for teaching. Then, he picks up a crossbow, and nails the target a few times. Not all bull's-eyes, but he's a decent shot. Then, he spends several minutes at the poison station. When he gives his concoction to a test rat, it slumps down, dead.

.

Luda Kein is next. She grabs a long, curved knife and approaches a dummy. She rips into it, sending dummy material everywhere. Then, she whips around and sprints to the other side of the gym, where she hurls the knife into a target. It isn't a bull's-eye, but it's a decent shot.

.

The boy from Nine, Jax Samuel, grabs all the knives he can carry. Interesting. How will he do? I prepare my notepad. Jax sends a knife into an axe target. It is a good shot. Then, he begins to run around the room, throwing knives into every target, ones meant for knives, and ones meant for other weapons. He gets a lot of bull's-eyes.

.

Maia Thresher from District Nine is next. She lights a fire relatively quickly, and grabs three bowls. She brings over herbs and other ingredients, and grinds them into a paste. She works on...whatever it is she's doing for the entire allotted time. We tell her to leave, but she ignores us. Finally, a peacekeeper has to go over to her and escort her out. But as she is pulled away, she dumps one of the bowls into the fire. We watch nervously, wondering what will happen. We don't have to wait long. The room begins to fill up with an acrid black smoke. I bury my nose in my shirt and cough. Maia leaves the room, and Avoxes open the doors and windows and turn on the high-power fans. It takes a while, and the next evaluation is delayed, but we manage to get the smoke out.

.

The boy from 10, Draxton Renaldo, is next. He spends a few minutes identifying plants. He's decent at this. He gets 75% correct, which is good. The average is very low. We're wondering what else he's planning to do to delay our return home when he comes over to us, a hopeful look on his face.

"Seventy-five percent," he says. "That's very good. I'm _really_ good at identifying plants."

We shrug, and tell him to get back to it.

"I just showed enough," he insists. "I got 75%. That deserves a pretty good score. From what I saw, nearly everyone else did really badly here."

He's right.

"So, I'm a lot better than anyone else at this station," he continues. "That should get me a pretty high score. Say...12?"

I smirk. Like that's ever going to happen.

"Come on," he pleads. "In the arena, this is sure to be very handy. _Very_ handy. You should tell the Capitol that I have a good chance by giving me a high score."

Oh, yes, identifying plants will be _very_ useful in a frozen wasteland. I wave him out. He leaves reluctantly.

.

Hellia Leston from District Ten goes over to the climbing ropes first. She starts to climb, but soon falls down with a yelp. I snicker. Waste of time, watching these silly tributes. Hellia then picks up a spear and throws it at the target. It's a very weak throw. The spear clatters to the ground several yards from the target. Then, she goes over to try to build a fire. She works for several minutes. Eventually, a flame flickers to life. But it's not in the fire pit. It's on Hellia's shirt. She squeals, and an Avox comes with a fire extinguisher. The fire is put out, but Hellia is shaking and crying.

.

They boy from Eleven, Orange Skyla, picks up a length of rope. He ties a few knots, makes a few snares, and fashions a few nooses. I'm watching the clock. And only the clock. I think he also shoots a few arrows, and gets a few decent shots out, but I'm not really sure.

.

When Teal Gray comes, I'm nearly asleep. I'm munching on a few crackers, trying to stay focused. I'm also arguing with my comrade, who seems to think that we should listen to the boy, Draxton, and give him a good score. I think Teal only does survival stuff, like building fires and making snares, etc. Whatever it was, it wasn't very impressive.

.

Tee Rahman from 12 is next. I'm in a very intense debate right now, and I only partly notice when Tee falls from the climbing wall. Then, the turkey comes, and I forget him completely. When he leaves, though, he is crying slightly, has a scorch mark on his sleeve, and has a bunch of berry stains on his shirt.

.

Poppy Coalton, the girl from District Twelve, works solely with a pickaxe. I catch a few good hits on the target, but that's all. The turkey is delicious. And that sauce...it's fabulous. It's also great to stretch my legs when Poppy is finally done.

Tonight, we'll congregate and decide on a fitting score for each tribute. And then, the interviews. And then, the Games. I can't wait!


	19. Training Scores

_District 3: Belle Davidson's POV:_

It is almost time. In ten minutes, I will know my training score. I'm sure it'll be decent. Of course it'll be. Why wouldn't it be? I did my best and showed my skills. That should get me somewhere. Still, I'm nervous. I twist my ring around my finger. _Forever_. Hope will live on forever, even if my score is the lowest one ever seen.

Caesar has taken over the screen. He greets us, wishes us a - _happy_ - Hunger Games, and all of that. I wait very impatiently, unlike Merlin, who seems like he could wait for years and still be happy. Finally, Caesar gets to the point. He tells us about the scoring system, as if we haven't been hearing this every year. Then, he tells us the scores.

"From District One," he begins, "Glint Harson, with a score of 10. Demeter Arisana Marinos, with a score of 6."

10 I can understand. To my knowledge, Glint is strong and merciless. Terrrifying. But six? What Career gets a six in training? The lowest I remember is an eight, three years ago, and even that was a surprise.

"From District Two, Fabian Locke with a score of nine. Chayenne Locke, with a score of nine."

Nine and nine? What happened to the brainbusting scores the Careers used to get? Not that I'm complaining. It's a good thing. But Glint...he got a 10. Not good for the rest of us. I bet he'll win. Now it's time to hear Merlin's score. He seems to have turned slightly green. Anticipation can be cruel.

"From District Three, Merlin Avon, with a score of seven."

Not bad. We congratulate him. But me...what will I get? I just hope it's better than, say, a four. I stare at the screen. Time seems to be going in slow motion. Caesar looks down at his sheet. He opens his mouth...

"Belle Davidson, with a score of..."

This is it. What will I get? I did my best, put in all my effort. Will it pay off? Will I be the worst? Will I shame myself, or give myself hope?

"...seven."

Seven. Seven! I tied Merlin! I share a grin with him. Well, it's mostly me grinning. His is sort of a grimace, but whatever. I got a seven! A _seven_! I shake off the excitement of my victory and turn my attention back to the screen.

"From District Four, Luxtia Emerald, with a score of 10! Aquamarine Mer, with a score of 9!"

Nine and ten? Right when I was hoping the Careers wouldn't be that strong this year... Oh, well. I can still try.

"From District Five, Victor Nigel Horninius, with a score of...10! Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari, with a score of 5."

Well, Bella's score was expected. But Victor...a 10? Really? Not possible. He didn't seem _that_ impressive to me. Oh, great, another tribute to watch out for. I hope he's the last.

* * *

_District 11: Teal Gray's POV:_

I'm really, really nervous. Oron doesn't seem to be worrying very much. He probably got a score much better than mine, though. District Six is up. I don't really know their tributes.

"From District Six, Damour Ledd, with a score of five. Hayley Borban, with a score of three."

Not the best. But they're probably better than mine. I sit, nervous, as District Seven comes up.

"From District Seven, Archer Lux, with a score of eight. Kestra Deelin, with a score of one."

Eight is pretty good. But I just hope my score is better than Kestra's. That would be bad. I think I'll get more than a one. I hope.

"From District Eight, Patches O'Neil, with a score of seven. Luda Kein, with a score of nine."

I hope I get something in that range. I doubt I will, though.

"From District Nine, Jax Samuel, with a score of nine. Maia Thresher, with a score of eight."

Two more districts to go. Only two.

"From District 10, Draxton Renaldo, with a score of six. Hellia Leston, with a score of one."

Another one? Hmm. Well, Oron's up, and then it's me...

"From District 11, Orange Skyla, with a score of seven."

Oron looks a bit disappointed, but we congratulate him, anyways. My score's next. I'm shaking. I'm so nervous.

"Teal Gray, with a score of three."

Three? Three. Well, then. It's okay. Oron got seven, though. Oh, well, I only did survival stuff.

"From District Twelve, Tee Rahman, with a score of two. Poppy Coalton, with a score of seven."

And just like that, the scores announcement is over. And I got a three. Oh, well.


	20. District 1 Interviews

**A/N: So, some people want me to do full interviews, and one wants me to do just one question. We'll compromise! I'll do a few questions for each tribute. I'm going to be breaking the interviews down for the different districts.**

* * *

_Caesar Flickerman's POV:_

I welcome the crowd, like I do every year, with all the "today we'll see our tributes up close!" and "Whatever you've been wondering about these tributes!" and general laughing and cheering. It never gets old. They're always in for the excitement, the cheerful attitude, and the _tributes_, of course. The stars of the show. Soon, it will not be me who they are cheering for. But right now, I have the stage.

"Starting off today, let's invite up Demeter!"

Demeter walks up to the stage. I greet her, and we take our seats. _Play it for the audience, Demeter. Let's do this._

"So, Demeter, it's nice to have you tonight! Do you think you're ready for tomorrow? The Games?"

Demeter swallows. _Come on, say yes!_ "No tough shell, no hardened winner, no slash and no strike to earn a dinner..."

What? I take that to be a no. Ah, Demeter, you're not being very helpful. You're from One, your biggest chance here is to say _yes__, I'm very ready, I'm going to win._ It's what they expect, it's what they _want_. But no matter.

"So, Demeter..." _Let's get you some hope._ "What're your biggest strengths?"

Demeter frowns and quivers slightly. _Come on, Demeter._ "Quite calm...and knowledge abound."

"So, you're calm, and quite smart, too. That's really great. Demeter, could you tell us a bit about your family?"

She stares me right in the eye. "Mother and Father victors both, only one meant to stand. The moon's glow peaking through black hair long and soft...Only one to whom I can talk."

The audience titters slightly. I attempt to translate her words to them. Demeter...as a general rule, it's best if the audience can understand you.

.

Glint is up next. He I can work with. He's the classic Career. They're the best material for the interviews. Well, so are the underdogs who rise up.

"How are you today, Glint?" I ask amiably.

He gives me a slight grin. "Great, Caesar. I can't wait for tomorrow. Just can't wait."

Good answer. "I bet I'm not the only one here who can't wait to see you out there," I respond, laughing and nodding to the audience. They join me. "You must be a real fighter, Glint, with that amazing training score."

"Oh, I'm a fighter," he agrees. "I will win this, just you see."

"Oh, I bet you will," I say. "Tell me, Glint. Why did you volunteer? Did you know the boy?"

"What? Did I know Humor? Ah, I'd seen him around the district. But no, I didn't _know_ him. I volunteered so I could come to the Capitol, of course. It's awesome here. And, of course, so I could win."

Now _that's_ the kind of answer the Capitol likes. "Glint, what's your plan for the Games?"

"To kill," he answers immediately. "I'll kill all the tributes. I'll torture them. I'll do anything to kill them. I'm not scared of blood. Their blood - all of them - will be spilled. I will win."

* * *

**A/N: So, my school isn't over until the 24th, unlike many schools, so updates will continue to be slow. I'm really sorry. Trust me, I don't _want_ to be in school for the rest of the month. And by this time, we aren't really learning anything.**


	21. District 2 Interviews

_District 2: Chayenne Locke's POV:_

I'm wearing a blue dress that reaches my knees. My stylist also sprinkled glitter all over me. On my head I wear a regal crown. Caesar beckons me up to the stage. I smile at him. He grins.

"Come up, come up! How are you tonight, Chayenne?"

"Very good, Caesar," I say, smiling sweetly at him. "You?"

"Oh, I'm great," he responds. "Beautiful night, isn't it?"

"Very," I say. I sweep my hair over my shoulders and smile, inviting his next question.

"So, Chayenne," he begins, "what's life like at home for you?"

"Well, it's not _nearly_ as fabulous as here, of course - " I smile sweetly at the crowd " - but it's pretty awesome back in Two. I'm a singer in my brother's band, _the Troublemakers_."

"Are you good?" He stares at me intently, then turns and roars with laughter. "Of course you are! Who am I kidding? Anyways, Chayenne...is there a, ah..._special_ boy back at home?"

I freeze. _Loosen up, Chay, you're in front of an audience_. I have a pretty complicated love life. My father wants me to marry this boy named Vladimir Yorken, the son of my father's richest comrade, but I don't love him, see. I have a crush on a different boy, Laércio, who plays the guitar in the band. But I can't say that here. My father threatened to make sure Laércio was reaped and died in the Games should I stay with him instead of rich old Vlad. The threat still stands.

I gather my words. "Well...yes, Caesar, there is. His name is Vladimir Yorken." I can imagine Vlad's face, hearing this. "He's the son of my father's comrade. He's _very _rich and handsome." The audience sighs. "I'm going to marry him." There, Father. Happy?

Caesar grins and shakes his head. "Lucky young man, that Vladimir. And if you win, just imagine how he'll love you."

I try not to make a face. _Laércio, it is you who I love, not Vlad. Hear me, Laércio. I hope it will possible, you and me together, when I come back, a victor._

* * *

_District 2: Fabian Locke's POV:_

Chay leaves the stage, and I know I'm next. I shake off the traces of nervousness and walk up confidently.

"Welcome, welcome, Fabian!" Caesar cries.

I grin and nod at him. "Great to be here, Caesar."

"Great to have you here," he says. "Smashing clothes there."

"Thanks," I say. I'm wearing a grey suit and a red shirt that shows off some skin. "Doesn't compare with some clothes I see out there, though." I smile good-naturedly at the crowd. They scream in admiration.

"So, Fabian, how is it being here with your sister?" Caesar asks.

"Oh, it's nice, I guess," I say. I make it clear on my face that I'm not totally sure, you know, there are bad points to it. The audience laughs. "One of us is going to go home, that's obvious. The real question is, who?"

"Who do _you_ think, Fabian?" He gives me a sly look.

"I think I will," I say immediately. "I mean, I'm older...among other things." I grin at the audience.

"Sibling rivalry," Caesar laughs. "I saw enough of it growing up. Do you have any other siblings?"

"Two others," I say. "Why my parents had to have four children I'm not sure..."

"Who are they?" Caesar asks. "I'm sure they'd like you to talk about them."

"They would," I agree. "So, there's my little sister, Ariella. She's eight years old. She's nice. She's funny. She's cool. Awesomeness, yeah...not in comparison, of course. And my other sister is Rosário. Rosário Tanner, now."

"Oh, yes, we know Rosário," Caesar says. "She was a victor, yes? She won the Games a few years ago, and I right?"

"Yeah..." I sigh, as if I'm greatly resigned to this fact. "Not fair. I'm going to win these Games. In her face, she's not the only one."

Caesar laughs. "So, Fabian, could you fill us in on how she became Rosário Tanner? Because I think that we - or at least, I - know her as Rosário Locke."

"Sure," I say. "So, Rosário won the Games. Two months later, she married Inácio Tanner. That's...mostly it. Then, the next year, she had Nathalie. You know most of this, Caesar."

"Well, yeah, but I don't speak for the entire audience," Casear points out. "It's a good story, too. Stories, yes. Anyways, good luck in the Games, Fabian."


	22. District 3 Interviews

**A/N: School just won't end! It ends on the 24th. That must be the latest of any school...**

**Note: I've created a forum for the Hunger Games. The link is on my profile. Please come and check it out. I'm lonely. **

* * *

_Caesar Flickerman's POV:_

"Next up from District Three, Belle Davidson!" I announce. Let's see how she does. Will she fail, or will she charm the audience?

Belle comes up to the stage. "Hello," she says cheerfully. "Great to be here tonight, Caesar."

"Great to have you," I reply. "Fabulous dress, Belle." It is. She's wearing a brightly colored, intricate, poofy ball gown. She would fit in here, in the Capitol, wearing that. But of course, she probably finds it overwhelming. People in the districts, they just don't know fashion.

Belle grins. "Yeah, it's pretty awesome, isn't it," she says. "I look like a clown who's flown into the sun, but is just two awesome to care about the heat around him."

"I have to say, you do," I laugh. "So, Belle, what do you think of the Capitol?"

"Oh, it's really great," she says excitedly. "And the people here are great, too!"

"Oh, aren't they?" I say. "So, Belle...what're your greatest strengths? How are you going to win these Games, huh?"

_Come on, Belle, give me something. You're doing fabulously._

"Well, I'm pretty strong, I guess," Belle says. "I mean, I'm definitely not _the_ strongest, but I'm still pretty strong."

_Yes, that's good. Tell us, Belle, that's right. _

"I don't doubt that for a second," I say.

We have a few more exchanges, and then the timer goes off, and Belle leaves the stage.

.

Merlin Avon is next. He's wearing all black, and his face is completely emotionless. Just like it was in the reaping.

"Hello, hello!" I cry. "Welcome, Merlin."

Merlin nods at me. "Hello, Caesar."

"Great to have you here tonight."

Merlin nods slightly.

_Oh, so this is how you're playing it. Good to know._

"So, Merlin, tell us a bit about your family. Do you have any siblings? Are they like you?"

"No siblings," Merlin says. "Just me and my mom."

"No father?"

_Come on, Merlin, tell us. Just a few words._

"Once."

"Oh...what happened to him?"

"Radiation. He's dead."

"Oh, I'm really sorry," I say sympathetically. "Anyways, Merlin...what's your strategy going to be for the Games?"

He shrugs. "Can't really tell you that."

_Good, good. Good, no smiling, that'd give it a humorous spin._

"Well, yeah, that'd be giving it away," I laugh. "Good point, Merlin. Well, are you planning to have any allies? Going to team up with anyone?"

"No."

"Well then, Merlin," I say, "I'll look forward to seeing you fight it out alone. Ladies and gentlemen, Merlin Avon!"


	23. District 4 Interviews

_District 4: Aquamarine Mer's POV:_

My stylist had an impulse to keep up the District 4 theme for the interview. He's sort of weird that way. Most stylists drop the district theme and try to dazzle the audience with beautiful dresses, amazing makeup, et cetera. But no, my stylist decided to put me in elaborate fishing net leggings, and to weave crystals into my hair like you see seaweed woven into the nets sometimes, back at home. So he doesn't _totally_ keep up the theme. I'm glad of that. Wouldn't want to be dressed up like a mermaid again here.

I finger my short black dress and watch as that boy from Three finishes up and finally leaves the stage. Then, Caesar invites me up. He offers me his hand to shake. I grip it tightly and shake, staring him straight in the eye.

"You have a strong grip," Caesar says.

"I'm strong," I agree. "Just ask my district. They'll tell you."

"I'm sure they would," Caesar says. "So, while we're on the topic of District Four, Aquamarine, how do you like it there?"

"Oh, I have a lot of friends," I say. I decide not to mention that we train together. The Capitol isn't supposed to know that. "They're all cool. My best friend is Nerissa. My friends...well, let's say they're lucky to be my friends." I smirk.

"Why?" Caesar asks. "Anything bad ever happen to your arch enemies?

"Oh, yes," I say. "Anyways, Four's great."

"So, your family," Caesar says. "Could you tell us a bit about them?"

"Sure," I reply. "My father's a ship captain. My mom's a baker. I have an older sister, Marina, and a younger brother, Neptune."

He asks me a few more questions, and I try to get the sponsors. Do I succeed? Ask them. _I_ think I did.

* * *

_District 4: Luxtia Emerald's POV:_

My mentor told me to get the Capitol's sympathy today, telling them and acting _tearful_ about my parents' recent deaths. This is ridiculous. I'd thought that I'd be doing something similar to what Glint did. But apparently not. These people...

Aquamarine leaves the stage, and I go up. Caesar welcomes me and wishes me a happy Hunger Games, and all of that.

"How are you tonight, Luxtia?" he asks.

"It's Luxe," I say. "I'm all right."

"Just all right?" Caesar asks. "Come on, Luxe, tomorrow's the Games! You got a ten, right? Be excited!"

"I _am_ excited," I say. "Just..."

"Just what?" Caesar leans in. "Anything bad happen?"

"Yeah," I say. "My parents died two days before the reaping."

"That's unfortunate," Caesar says sympathetically. "What happened?"

"I don't know," I admit. "They...they just died."

"I can imagine how bad that must be," Caesar says. "Are you sad?"

_Really, Caesar..._

"Yeah," I say, shrugging. "I mean, they died...so, yeah."

"Do you have any other family?" Caesar asks.

"I have a sister, Amber," I say.

"Must be hard for her, too," Caesar says. "I'm sorry, Luxe. Anyways, let's move on. What're your strengths?"

"I'm strong," I say. "I'm good with weapons."

"Those both will be helpful," Caesar says. "Anything else?"

I go on to tell him a lot more about myself, and everything else. Eventually, the timer goes off, and I leave the stage.

* * *

**A/N: Remember to check out my forum.**


	24. District 5 Interviews

**A/N: So, GoldenfeatherKyru has joined me in my forum. Hooray! Anyone else? The link is on my profile.**

* * *

_District 5: Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari's POV:_

Oh my _gods_. Why? My mentor _ordered_ me to hide my true tomboyish nature, and act calm and..._unrealistic_...for the audience. I like being myself. Oh, and on top of that, my stylist put me in a _beautiful_ aquamarine dress that I absolutely can't wait to get out of. And also, he put my hair up and curled it, and a did lot of other stuff that basically makes me want to throw up. Bad enough that I'm here. Must you torture me further?

The boy from Four, Luxe, leaves the stage. I go up and take his place.

"Welcome, Bellatrix," Caesar says. "You look beautiful tonight."

I take my seat and clench my fists, burying them in my dress so he can't see. _Caesar, do you know how much I hate dresses? How much I can't wait for the interviews to be over so I can get out of this despicable outfit?_

But still, I say, "Thank you, Caesar." It's hard for me to force the words out. "It's really great, isn't it." Oh, man, I sound like those boring girly girls at home. Whoa. Not a good sign. Especially not coming from me, a hardened tomboy.

"Oh, it is!" Caesar exclaims. "Isn't it?" He looks at the audience. As expected, they scream in response. "That's a yes, for certain," Caesar chuckles.

I force a smile. "My stylist is awesome." _However much I hate him._

"Oh, yes, he clearly is," Caesar agrees. "But it's _you_ we're all interested in. Tell us a bit about you, Bellatrix."

"Well, at home, everyone calls me _Bella_," I say, arching my eyebrows pointedly at him.

"Oh, really?" Caesar laughs. "Sorry, sorry, _Bella_. You just had to say."

"So, me," I say. "Me. I'm...a tomboy." _Let's throw it in their face, why don't we?_ "I like sports. But that's not all, I _can_ be nice...quiet, even...but I suspect I won't have much use for the latter part in the Games." I remember my mentor's instructions, and try to smile at him. _Calm, remember. For the audience, Bella. Calm._

Caesar laughs. "Good to know, anyways. So, Bella, what are your biggest assets?"

"I'm a good healer," I say. "I can swim. I can, well...sneak around without being seen or heard."

"Good, good," Caesar says. "Personally, I can't wait to see you dominate the arena. I know I'm not the only one." The audience screams, and Caesar chuckles.

For the remainder of the three minutes, which feels like a few hours, Caesar continues asking me questions. I just can't wait to get out of this dress...

* * *

_District 5: Victor Nigel Horninius's POV:_

A regular suit. Seriously. We're in the Capitol, and I'm wearing an everyday suit. Well, at least it's not Bella's silly outfit. I suppose it's not _that_ bad. But we're in the Capitol. Anyways...whatever.

"Next up, from District Five...Victor Nigel Horninius!" Caesar shouts. The audience goes crazy, and I go up to the stage.

"Welcome, welcome!" Caesar says.

"Hello," I say. "Great to be meeting you at last. My mom loves you, you know. That's why she died my hair blue. It was after you."

"Oh?" Caesar looks surprised. "After me? Well, it looks fabulous." He laughs. "Well, Mrs. Horninius, I'm glad you like my hairdo. You're not alone." He stands up and takes a bow. "But it's not me we're here to see. It's _you_, Victor. You. So, Victor, tell me. Why did you volunteer?"

Is he genuinely curious? "Isn't it obvious, Caesar? I volunteered so I could come here and win the Games."

Caesar nods at the audience. "A strong one from Five. Watch out, other tributes." He grins at me.

"You'll notice that my name is _Victor_," I say. "It's because my mother foresaw that I'd win the Games. She'll be proven right, just you watch."

"I'm sure," Caesar says. "I'm becoming very fond of your mother, Victor." He laughs.

"She'll be ecstatic to be hearing you say that," I remark wryly. I can picture her expression: it's one of delight, disbelief, extreme happiness.

Caesar laughs. "Anyways, Victor-soon-to-be-victor, do you have a...girlfriend?"

I shift in my seat. "Uh...um...yeah." The audience whispers excitedly. I'm sure lots of the girls are crying. Too bad for them. Ha.

"Who?" Caesar asks. "Tell us, Victor? Who is the lucky lady back in the district?"

"You want to know her name?" I grin. Suspense, yes.

"Yes!" Caesar says. "Yes! Tell us! _Please_, Victor, tell us!"

"Okay," I say. "Her name is...Bellatrix. Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari."

The truth smacks the Capitol in the face. Caesar, the audience, everyone. Me, too, I'll admit. And Bella, of course. It'll be a shock for her that me, her tormentor, loves her.

"Bella?" Caesar exclaims. "Like, _our_ Bella?"

He's giving me the stage - an opportunity. He knows what I should say.

"No," I say. "_My_ Bella."

The audience oohs and ahs. Caesar gives me a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

"Your Bella," he agrees. "My apologies, Victor. Does she know?"

I smile slightly. "Now she does. I'm not sure she'll believe me, though."

"Well, do you plan to win yourself, or to let her win?" Caesar looks at me curiously.

Oh...hard question. "Well, I'm destined to win, I know that," I say. "There's no changing fate. That's really the only way I can answer."

Caesar nods wisely. "And Victor, speaking of the Games, do you believe in the Curse of District Five?"

The Curse of District Five is based on the fact that for the last three decades or so, the male tribute from Five has died in the bloodbath, and the female has made it out alive. Do I believe it? Well, they don't call my mother a prophet for nothing.

"_No_, Caesar," I say. "My mother predicted that I would win, right? That can't really happen if I die in the bloodbath, can it?" I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Proof is proof," Caesar agrees. "Looks like you're going to break the supposed curse on your district!"

"I sure am," I say. "Just watch me win!"

The timer goes off, and I leave the stage. My mentor meets me there. He congratulates me, and waves me over to one of the screens.


	25. District 6 Interviews

**A/N: Was it just my computer, or was something wrong with this entire site on Saturday?**

* * *

_Caesar Flickerman's POV:_

So, District Five was pretty good. The crowd loved Bellatrix, and Victor's declaration of love. But how will District Six do? Neither tribute has caught my attention so far. There's not much to either tribute, as far as I know. Whatever there is I will have to coax out.

"May I welcome to the stage, Hayley Borban!" I announce.

Hayley comes teetering up to the stage on a pair of ten-inch-high heels. Well, maybe not _ten_ inches high, but you know what I mean. Very high. But not _too_ high. There is no such thing.

"Careful," I warn her, offering her my hand. She takes it hesitantly, and manages to make her way to her seat.

"Thanks," she says, almost inaudibly. "I'm not used to high heels."

"Neither am I," I say, laughing. She laughs, too. Quietly. Hesitantly. Uncertainly.

"Hayley, Hayley," I say. "How do you like it here?"

"It's...interesting," Hayley ventures. "I...I like it, I guess...but I miss my home."

"What do you miss about it?" I ask.

"My sister," she mumbles.

"Sorry?" _Speak up, Hayley. The audience can't hear you._

"My sister," she repeats, louder. "I miss my sister."

"Tell us about her," I suggest.

"Her name's Elsa. She's eight years old," Hayley says. "We live in the community home. We've been there for six years, since our parents lost our jobs. Then the Peacekeepers came for us, and took us to the home. Our parents died soon after."

"Oh." I'm quiet for a second. Then I ask, "Hayley, was Elsa the girl who we saw at the reaping? The little girl?"

"Yeah, that was her," Hayley murmurs. She looks up at the camera. "Elsa...I'm sorry. I miss you. Collia...please help her. I wish...I wish I could come home."

I'm silent for a moment, letting her words sweep across the audience. Then I ask, "Who's Collia?"

Hayley looks up, momentarily distracted. "She's...she's my friend."

"I'm sure they can't wait for you to astound us all and be the one to return," I say with a final smile and nod. "Ladies and gentlemen, Hayley Borban!"

.

Damour Ledd is next. He comes up wearing a bright purple suit.

"Welcome, Damour," I cry. "Welcome to the Capitol!"

"Thanks, Caesar," he says quietly, "but I'm afraid I'm not going to be here much longer."

"Well, do you think you'll be coming back after the Games?" I ask.

"Of course," he replies. "My dead body will return so you guys can put it in a box and return in to my district."

"Come on, Damour," I say. "Surely you have a chance of winning. There are surprises every year."

"Caesar," Damour sighs, "everyone - you, me, the audience, _everyone_ - knows that I have no chance whatsoever."

"Damour," I say, "remember the 67th Games? Shirla Krik's interview? She said something similar to that. And then she went off and won the Games, and returned to Eleven."

"Yeah, well, I'm not Shirla Krik," he points out.

"Damour," I say, "you have a chance, trust me. But let's leave this subject. Tell us about your family."

He exhales heavily. "So, my mother. She...she worked in the car manufacturing business. That's mostly it. But before the reaping...she said, 'you won't be picked, Damour. And if you are...you can win this'."

"Prove her right," I urge him. "And your father?"

His gaze darkens. "He's dead. He got sick a week or so before the weekend. The Peacekeepers took him away."

"Oh." I'm quiet for a second. "I'm sorry, Damour."

"It happens all the time," he continues. "Someone gets too sick to work, and they're gone a few days later."

I continue asking him questions, and he answers them each. Eventually, the timer goes off. It's the halfway mark, and so the audience disperses for a thirty minute break.


	26. District 7 Interviews

_District 7: Kestra Deelin's POV:_

I wonder if any people here are still loyal to God. I predict that just like in the district, more than 98% will have already betrayed him. I will bring this up in my interview. I will bring God back to the Capitol, and hope he stays.

The audience, refreshed by a thirty minute break, is taking their seats again. Caesar takes the stage, welcoming back the crowd. I'm next. I'm...next. Caesar calls out my name. My feet freeze up, but somehow I force them to carry me to the stage.

You know what my fabulous way to begin my interview is? I trip over my heels, and go crashing to the floor. I know, it's an excellent start. I say that with all the sarcasm possible. The audience roars with laughter, and much to my dismay and annoyance, Caesar joins them.

"Whoa there, careful," he chuckles. "Watch it." He helps me to my seat, where I sit down, blushing, trying to retain a bit of pride. It's hard. I struggle to replace my shoe. The audience snickers. Well, maybe they don't _snicker_, but they laugh, and I feel my face burning.

_God, I need to not mess up here..._

"You okay?" Caesar asks, a smile still firmly planted on his face.

"I'm okay," I say, trying not to make my voice sound too cold or annoyed, and trying to force a smile onto my face.

"Good," Caesar says. "That was...unexpected. But we're over it, and on with the interview. Kestra, I have been waiting the last thirty minutes, just _waiting_ for you to come up for your interview. We're really interested in you, Kestra."

"Really?" I look up uncertainly. "Caesar, I didn't think I..."

_Kestra, they're interested in you_. My mother's face pops up in my mind, chastising me. _Don't be ungrateful, Kestra. They're interested in you. Be thankful, Kestra..._

I swallow, and glance up again. _Thank you._ "Caesar, I couldn't wait, either."

_That's better, Kestra._

"Well, now we're here," Caesar says, "and so it's time for you to tell us all about everything." He smiles. "Anything we should know about you in particular? Your family?"

"Um..." I shift in my seat. _Kestra, take this chance! Kestra, you cannot ignore God..._ I'm not ignoring him, Mother... "Well, Caesar, see, we're religious, we're one of the few families who didn't betray God when America went down."

"Really?" Caesar looks momentarily uncomfortable, but his expression shifts to one of remote interest. "So, when America went down, most families - "

"Betrayed God, yes," I interrupt. "Left him. Became atheist. Left the faith. Proved they were unloyal." My mother is smiling. _That's better, Kestra. Very good, very good..._

"Well, then _you_ stayed loyal," Caesar says, a smile that looks rather forced dwelling on his face. "I guess we know who to trust, then!" He looks at the crowd, and he laughs. A few of them join him, but some faces stick out to me. Bold. Unwavering. Angry.

"Caesar, are any families _here_ religious?" I ask. I feel slightly guilty. I feel like I'm insulting the Capitol people. _God, I'm only here to do your bidding, yet you brought me here._

"I'm sure some are," Caesar says. He shoots me a pointed glance, too fast for the cameras to catch it It says, don't go down that path. You don't want to make enemies among the people who hold your life in their hands. _God, I don't want to anger them_.

"That's good," I say. "I'm glad not everyone has fallen into the depths of unloyalty." The words ripple over the audience, followed by a wave of anger that hits me, almost knocking me out of my seat. I wince. Bad choice of words. "Caesar, are _you_?"

"No, Kestra, I'm not." Caesar's smile is now fixed, glued onto his face, his playful laughter gone. "I never have been. I'm loyal to the Capitol, though, and our president, and the Games. And Kestra, we're not here to discuss me. We're here to discuss _you_."

"What has happened to the world?" I ask. The words just slip out of my mouth without permission. "The world is truly falling into ruins. President Snow has replaced God, the Games have replaced holy gatherings, happenings, and - "

Caesar nods to the side. A Peacekeeper breaks ranks and runs over to me. I try to get up, to get away, but I can't walk in these shoes. I'm grabbed. I yelp. I'm dragged off of the stage.

* * *

_District 7: Archer Lux's POV:_

Kestra Deelin is removed from the stage. I gape at the Peacekeeper. I can't remember ever having such an interruption at an interview before. The Peacekeeper nods at me, telling me that I'm up. I adjust my tie and walk up to the stage.

"Hello, Archer," Caesar says, his smile renewed and real this time. "That was quite an unexpected interruption, wouldn't you say?"

I nod. It was. Kestra didn't seem to get that it's best not to get on the bad side of the Capitol.

"Well, now we're back to the interviews. Tell us a bit about you, Archer."

I shrug. "What?"

"Oh." Caesar gestures around. "Your family? Do you have any siblings?"

"Yeah," I say.

"Who? Tell us about him."

"Her," I correct.

"Her," he says. "What's her name?"

"Amelia."

"How old is she?"

"Thirteen."

"What's she like?"

"She's innocent." It's true. She hates violence, and refuses to work with axes.

"I think we all know your mother," Caesar says. "She's a victor, right?"

"Yeah," I say.

"Remind me, which Games did she win?"

"The 51st."

The words of my mentor come back to me. _Keep the audience waiting, Archer. Make them want to know more. One word answers_.

"Ah, yes." Caesar nods. "I remember. That was an exciting year."

He continues asking me questions, most of which I don't completely answer. I think I did it well.


	27. District 8 Interviews

_District 8: Luda Kein's POV:_

_Dresses._ I don't like dresses. They're...dresses. And of course I'm wearing one. A _dress_. A tiny little pink dress. Tiny, I mean _tiny_. It's squeezing all of the air out of my body. It clenches my shoulders, and the rest of me. And it goes maybe an _inch_ past my waist. _Seriously_. I _hate_ my stylist. I _hate_ dresses. I _hate_ being forced to wear something I don't want to wear. I stomp over to the lounge where the other tributes are talking nervously, shaking, or - in the case of a few tributes - just plain _sleeping_. I'm up next. Pessa will see me in this dress. She'll laugh so hard, I just know it. She'll laugh and laugh, knowing I hate her, and knowing that I hate dresses, and knowing that I want to kill my stylist, kill _her_, and kill all the people here who I'm here to entertain. Pessa, I _hate_ you. I hope you're reaped next year.

I'm called up to the stage. I stall, holding back, unwilling to see Caesar, the Capitol people, the cameramen who will record my humiliation and send it to my sister. My mentor grabs my arm, harshly. I rip out of his grasp, clenching my teeth against the pain as some of my arm is left behind on his fingers.

"Oh, great, Luda," she groans. "Look, you're bleeding."

"Thanks to you," I point out.

She reaches toward me to try to haul me to the stage again, but I snarl and jump back into the lounge. A few other tributes have crowded around to watch.

"Luda, it's your turn," she says. "You _need_ to go up there. Go up _now_." She lashes out at me, digging her fingernails into my arm, drawing blood. "Luda, you can't beat me. Go _up_."

I examine my arm briefly. Good. Let's show Pessa that I'm not done here.

"Luda, you can't stay down here," my mentor argues. "Go up now. They're waiting."

In my mind's eye, I see Pessa grinning at the screen, at the closed door behind which she must know I am fighting to stay down there, where she can't see me. I jerk straight, and decide not to give her the satisfaction. Then, I march up the stairs and onto the stage, shifting my bleeding arm so the cameras - and Pessa - have a good view.

"Welcome, Luda," Caesar says. "Come on, sit down."

I pull at my dress, trying to stretch it out. How do they make dresses so tiny? This is an indecency.

"Luda!" Caesar exclaims. "What happened to your arm?"

Notice you never see Caesar looking so horrified at the decapitated heads and bleeding dead bodies in the Games?

"Oh, nothing," I say airily. "Just a bit of a run-in with a...person."

"A tribute?" Caesar stares at me, giving me a look of mock disapproval. "You know that's not allowed, Luda."

"No, not a tribute," I say, trying to look like I'm hiding something. I glance at the camera. _Pessa, if I ever get back home..._

"Who, then?" Caesar asks, looking mildly curious.

My instincts answer for me. "None of your business," I blurt out. Oh...maybe not the best answer. Oh, well. Too late.

Caesar looks a bit rattled, but he recovers. "Okay, okay," he says. "So then, Luda, tell us a bit about yourself. Tell us...what were you thinking when you were reaped?"

I shoot him a dagger glare, then remember that I'm in front of an audience here. "Well, I remember thinking it was bad luck that I was reaped, and not my sister."

"Your sister?"

"Pessa," I say. "The biggest-headed, most annoying kid in the district. I hate her," I say matter of factly.

"No, really," Caesar says. "Surely you don't hate your _sister_."

"I do," I say. I look up into one of the cameras and glare as fiercely as I can. "I _hate_ you, Pessa. I hope you get run over by a truck tomorrow. I hope you get reaped next year, and cry the way _I_ didn't. I hope you get a terrible disease and die a painful death. I hope that next week, when you're walking to school, an axe falls onto your head, or that in school, the building collapses on you." I sit back in my seat, satisfied. _It's not over yet, Pessa_.

"You really hate her, huh," Caesar says.

"I do," I confirm. "She hates me back, and I'm totally fine with that."

* * *

_District 8: Patches O'Neil's POV:_

Luda's tough. She really, really is. Sometimes it bugs me. On the train leaving the district, she told me about her sister. She doesn't sound very nice. But then again, neither is Luda. I watch the TV as Luda sullenly answers Caesar's questions. Eventually, the timer goes off, and Luda happily jumps off of her chair and leaves the stage. I can tell she hates the dress. She's not very good at pretending to enjoy the Capitol's "hospitality".

I'm next. I don't wait for Caesar's welcoming cry to go up to the stage. At least, that's my excuse for not waiting. In reality, I'm just too excited and nervous, and forgot that he usually invites each tribute to the stage, and _then_ you're supposed to go up. Oh well. People make mistakes. _Humans_ make mistakes. And I'm human. At least, I am right now. That may change when I enter the arena.

I go up to the stage and plop down in my seat. Caesar looks a bit surprised, as he has only just opened his mouth to announce my arrival. But he gets over it, and shakes my hand firmly. I grin at him.

"Someone's a bit excited," Caesar chuckles. "You're early. You balance out Luda's...late arrival."

The audience laughs. I join them, in part because I can picture Luda's face, hearing this on the screen. And Pessa's face, too, though I don't remember ever meeting her.

"I guess I do," I say.

"You do," Caesar says. He glances at his watch. I should mention that it's the shiniest watch I've ever seen. "And by about the same time."

I smile a bit. "Good to know."

"It's very valuable information." Caesar laughs. "Anyways, Patches, tell us about yourself."

"Um..." I try to find something worth telling. "Well, I'm a vegetarian." Nylon's face pops up in my mind. _You're a veggie!_

"A vegetarian?" Caesar asks. "That's cool, Patches. Personally, I _love_ meat. At least you're not from District 10." He bursts out laughing.

"I just don't like the thought of harming animals," I explain. "I mean, they never did anything to _us_." Just like the Games. Our generation never did anything to the Capitol, did they? I decide not to mention this.

"It's good you're not from Ten, then," Caesar says again.

"I'm glad I'm not," I agree. "I wouldn't be able to do it."

"So, Patches," Caesar says. "O'Neil, right?"

"Right," I confirm. "O'Neil. Why?"

"Am I mistaken, or is that the mayor's name, too?" He raises his eyebrows at me. I'm sure he knows, but wants me to tell it to the audience.

"It is," I say. "He's my dad."

"You're the mayor's son?" Caesar shakes his head. "No wonder you have so many fans."

Do I really? I smile, and say, "The mayor - Father - has many fans, too."

"More fans now, I'm sure," Caesar says. "Anything else we should know about your father?" His eyes glitter. I bet he knows about that, too.

"Yeah," I say. "He's a victor. He won the Games."

Caesar nods at the audience. "I'm sure you'll follow in his footsteps, Patches. Ladies and gentlemen, Patches O'Neil!"


	28. District 9 Interviews

_District 9: Maia Thresher's POV:_

It's funny how things played out. I had been considering mentioning the ritual and the cult in my interview, but I now see that it would be quite foolish. I mean, looking back at the girl, Kestra's interview, I now see that the Capitol doesn't take kindly to...what would you call it? Insider information from the districts? Things they didn't know about? I don't know exactly how to put it, but I _do_ know that I'm not going to be mentioning the cult, the ritual, or anything in my interview.

The boy from Eight, Patches, leaves the stage, and I take his place. I walk up to the stage and sit in the chair. I smile at Caesar.

"Hello, Maia," he says. "I like your dress."

"It's nice," I agree. I'm wearing a light blue dress that goes to my knees. The skirt part is thick and appears to be flowing down my legs. My stylist showed me a good trick of a sort. I stand up and twirl, and the dress floats into the air, and settles back down when I take my seat again. The audience oohs and ahs. I smile at them.

"Fabulous," Caesar says. "It's really lovely, Maia. Send my compliments to your stylist."

"I will," I promise. "I already have countless compliments to take to him." I smile. I see my stylist in the crowd. He blushes visibly and turns his head. I smile again. His purple locks appear to vibrate around his hips as he shakes with emotion.

"Not a surprise," Caesar says. "He's been a stylist for three decades now." Caesar's eyes widen, and he jumps to his feet and walks to the edge of the stage, and looks up at the stylists. "Don't worry, it doesn't show," he calls. "I'd think you'd have only just started your career."

As Caesar walks back to his seat, I notice his watch for the first time. It's the shiniest thing I've seen all day, and here in the Capitol, that's saying something. "What's that watch made from?" I blurt out.

"Sorry?" Caesar looks at me in surprise, taking his seat. "Oh, the watch? It's District One diamond. And some leather, of course, but you can't see it." He grins. "But, Maia, we're not here to discuss my watch. We're here to learn about _you_. So, Maia, we've heard a few...rumors about your performance for the Gamemakers. Can you tell us anything?"

Oh. The explosion. "Uh, Caesar," I say, "I believe that's confidential information. But let's say it ended with...smoke."

"Smoke?" He gives me a surprised look. "Smoke, Maia?"

"Smoke."

"What happened?"

"I mixed a few things together."

"Well then," Caesar says. "So, Maia, tell us about your family."

"My mother is an apothecary," I say. "She makes herbal remedies. And my father...he's not here."

"Not here?" Caesar frowns at me. "What happened to him?"

"He died," I say. "I'm not sure what happened. I don't remember him." I'm uncomfortable for a second, but it isn't in my nature to stay like that for long, so I shake of the feeling and bring my mind to other things. Wheat fields. My mother's herbs.

"I'm sorry, Maia," Caesar says. "So, tell us. How do you like the Capitol?"

"It's fancy," I say. "It's beautiful, and colorful, and I wish I had more time to enjoy the scenery. It's wonderful."

"I'm sure you'll have more time here when you come back a victor," Caesar says. And just like that, my interview is over.

* * *

_District 9: Jax Samuel's POV:_

Roses. I guess that has become a theme. A rose on my heart. Rose thorns on my chariot outfit. Roses on my black and silver suit today. Roses that were given to my sister, causing her death. Roses, President Snow. A bitter feeling fills my heart.

Maia's interview is over, and I'm prodded over to the stage. I sit down in front of Caesar. "Hi."

"Hello, Jax," Caesar says cheerfully. "Welcome to the Capitol."

"Thanks." I slump deeper in my seat.

"What's wrong?" Caesar looks concerned. It's just a play, though, and we both know it. He's all about the show. Proof? Kestra's interview. She was ruining the interviews, insulting the Capitol, and he was the one to order the Peacekeeper to get her. Well, two can play this game.

"Nothing," I say. "Just that I'm probably going to die some time in the next few weeks."

"Why do you say that?" Caesar asks. "You got a good score, Jax. Surely you have a decent chance."

"There are twenty-four of us in there, Caesar, and only one comes out."

"How do you know it won't be you?" Caesar points out.

"I have about a four percent chance of making it out, right?" I say. "And as I'm probably not the strongest tribute, I probably have more like a two percent chance."

"You know, Jax," Caesar says, "unlikely tributes have won before. And you don't even fall into that category. You have a chance, a good chance, and you should be happy about that."

"Caesar," I say, "I'm probably going to die. And if I do, my mother will have lost both of her children."

"Both?" Caesar asks. "Who was the other?"

"My sister," I say quietly. "She...you see, this guy gave her roses, and she brought them into the house. And then my father...he beat her to death. He pretended a mugger had killed her, but it was really him." The mere thought of Father brings tears of anger into my eyes. If I was still at home, he probably would have killed me if I had said something like that about him. But I'm _not_ at home. And there's nothing Father can do about it.

"I'm sorry, Jax," Caesar says.

I don't reply. My mind's eye if filled with images of my sister. My sister. Who's life was ended by roses.

"Jax, you said she was given roses," Caesar says. "Is that why you have the rose tatoo? The roses on your suit today?"

"Yes," I say quietly.

Caesar is silent for a moment. The he asks, "Jax, why did you volunteer?"

"To get away from my father," I say. "He's a tyrant. A _tyrant_."

"Well, Jax, if you do get out of the arena, you won't have to live with him again."

I almost smile. "That motivates me, Caesar."

Caesar laughs. "I thought it would. Ladies and gentlemen, Jax Samuel!"


	29. District 10 Interviews

_Caesar Flickerman's POV:_

These have been very eventful interviews. Kestra's was a disaster. I felt like a blew a cover I didn't realize I had when I signaled for the Peacekeeper to take her away. Oh, she'll be back for the Games. She'll die soon. We can't let a tribute who's insulted the Capitol in such a way live. Not if we can help it. But this is Hellia Leston's interview. And from what I've seen, she isn't capable of much.

"May I welcome to the stage, Hellia Leston!" I announce. "District Ten!"

Hellia trots up to the stage in a pair of huge black boots. She wears a thin black dress over her slightly pudgy body. Pudgy! From a district! Well, it's District Ten, and they tend to be better fed than other outlying districts. But still. Hellia has been one of the least remarkable tributes this year.

"Welcome, Hellia," I say. "It's great to have you here tonight."

"Caesar," Hellia says, smiling widely, "I wish I could fly."

The audience titters. _Hellia, that's not a great opening remark_.

"Really?" I say, laughing slightly. "That's...ambitious. It _would_ be nice to fly."

"Yes," Hellia agrees. She glances away from me.

"So, Hellia," I say, "how are you tonight?"

Hellia doesn't look at me. She doesn't give any sign that she even heard me.

"Hellia," I say. "Hellia! How are you tonight?"

Hellia still pays me to attention whatsoever. She looks down and picks at her dress. The audience laughs slightly, unsure of what else to do.

"Hellia," I croon. "Earth to Hellia. I asked, how are you?"

Hellia looks up at me. "What?"

"How are you tonight?"

"Oh." She frowns. "I'm...normal, I guess. Hi."

"Hellia, are you okay?" If she continues with this, she will only ensure that she has no fans whatsoever. "Hellia?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," she says. She grins at me. "I'm okay. Really, I'm feeling great today! Great, Caesar! Great! Well, maybe if it wasn't snowing..." She appears to lose all interest in our conversation, looking back down at her dress and continuing to pick at the hem.

"Snowing?" I frown at her. "_Snowing_, Hellia?"

Hellia laughs. "It's snowing? That's ridiculous, Caesar. Lies!"

I clear my throat. "Hellia, you _do_ realize that you just said it's snowing, right?"

"It's snowing," she says. "Snowing? Caesar, it's snowing? That's silly. Silly, silly, silly." She laughs and stands up. "Caesar, my legs hurt. Ahh! They cut them off!" And she clomps to the edge of the stage and collapses in a heap of skin and wrecked black fabric.

For once, I'm at a loss of words. I gesture for one of the Peacekeepers to help her up. He complies, and Hellia takes her seat again. She stares at me. I find it a bit unsettling.

"Sorry about that, Caesar," she giggles. Then her face molds into one of depression. "Hi. Jingle bells. You know, Caesar, I actually know the song!" And she proceeds to sing it, the entire Christmas carol. This tribute...she's not right in the head.

"You have a good voice, Hellia," I lie. In reality, she sounds like a deaf cow would had it been taught to make "music".

"Thanks!" she screams. She literally _screams_ it. I wince and cover my ears.

We're both quiet for a while. Then I break the silence. "You have a lot of strange...skills, Hellia. I'm sure they'll serve you well in the Games."

I hope I'm a good liar.

.

Draxton Renaldo is next. He is wearing a white suit patterned with grey emblazoning.

"Welcome, Draxton," I say.

"Hi, Caesar," Draxton replies.

"How are you tonight?" I ask.

"I'm okay," he says. "A bit nervous, but otherwise fine."

"Good," I say. Let's get a bit of humor here. "So, Draxton, what do you think of Hellia?"

Draxton pauses. "She's...nice," he says.

"Does she do anything we should know about?" I ask, wiggling my eyebrows at him.

"She talks about fish," he says. "And rocks. And snow. Random stuff, really."

"Well, enough talk about Hellia," I say. "Could you tell us a bit about yourself? Give us a few adjectives to describe you."

Draxton looks a bit uncomfortable. "Um...protective? Um...I'm not great at describing myself, Caesar..."

"How about 'awesome'?" someone from the audience cries out. This gets quite a few laughs. Draxton and I both join in.

"Thanks," Draxton says. "You're awesome, too." There is a whoop, probably from the same person.

"So, Draxton, your last name's Renaldo," I say. "Weren't there two tributes with that surname almost two decades ago?"

Draxton looks down at his polished shoes, then back up at me. "There were, Caesar. My parents. They were eighteen. They both died, as you know. My dad in the bloodbath, my mom six days later. I was a baby, not yet a year old."

It was because they tried to keep him at home, and we both know it. But the story was not told to anyone else. No need to give anyone any ideas. It's a good thing he didn't try to talk about it.

"So, Draxton," I ask, "what're you planning to do in the Games?"

Draxton thinks about it. "Well, I know I'm not going to win, Caesar, so I might as well give my life to a good cause."

"A good cause?" I repeat. "Such as what?"

"Oh..." Draxton pauses. "Saving someone else. Preserving someone else's life. Someone else. They might win, who knows."

"Protective and awesome," I say. "Looks like we have something else to add to the list: selfless. Draxton, you are one interesting tribute. I can't wait to see you win these Games."

The buzzer goes off, and Draxton leaves the stage.


	30. District 11 Interviews

_District 11: Teal Gray's POV:_

Waiting for Draxton, the boy from Ten, to finish up, I admire my dress. It's pure white and very frilly. My stylist has put my hair up in curls. The boy from Ten, before he went up, he complimented me, calling me beautiful. I was happy after that. It brought my mind off of my imminent death. Ah...I just remembered again.

Why? Why must I be here? Why must I die?

Draxton - he's very friendly, why does he have to die, too? - has finished his interview. He leaves the stage. I'm up next. I brush my light hair out of my eyes. I shuffle my feet around. I quake. I stand in anticipation. Eventually, Caesar calls my name. He is inviting me up to the stage. I draw in a shaky breath, and step toward the stage. And I go up.

"Hello," I say. I jump a bit when my voice resounds throughout the hall, bouncing to the farthest corners and back to my ears. I'm used to my voice being nearly inaudible, even to me. Not so loud that everyone can hear it. And, after hearing it, many audience members coo and sigh.

"Hello," Caesar says. "Nice to have you here tonight."

"Nice to be here," I reply. This time I'm ready for the echo, and I'm not surprised when my voice is magnified a hundred times.

"How are you, Teal?" Caesar asks.

"I'm fine," I say. "But I'm a bit...nervous. About tonight, and about tomorrow."

"I'm sure you'll do fine," Caesar assures me. "I mean, you're going to be positively _flooded_ with sponsors."

I wonder what I'm supposed to say in response to that. But Caesar sees my state and comes to my rescue.

"We all love you, Teal," he says. "Tell us a bit about yourself."

"I - I'm Christian," I say uncertainly. Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned this, after Kestra's disastrous interview.

But Caesar's smile doesn't betray any nervousness or hint that he's connecting this to Kestra's interview at all. Maybe I'm safe, then.

"Christian?" Caesar asks. "Cool, Teal. Anything else? Tell us, Teal, what - who - was that doll you had at the reaping? The one you dropped?"

"That was Agie," I say quietly. "And I have her here. Now."

"You do?" Caesar leans forward. "Where?"

"She's my token," I explain, pulling the little rag doll out from under my dress.

The audience sighs again. It's like they're one person, breathing and talking as one. Sighing as one. Being as one.

"That's a nice doll," Caesar says. "How long have you had her?"

"Years," I say.

Caesar is quiet for a moment. "Teal," he says, "are you afraid of death?"

I close my eyes. "No."

"No?" Caesar frowns. "Why not?"

"God," I answer. "He will always take care of me."

* * *

_District 11: Orange Skyla's POV:_

I've been waiting for I don't know how long now. These interviews take _forever_. Three minutes per tribute, plus a thirty minute break. It's infuriating when you're near the end. Really infuriating. Twenty-one tributes have gone already. Twenty-one times three...that's sixty-three, right? Plus thirty? That's ninety-three. Ninety-three minutes. More than an hour and a half. Of simply sitting in a room. And waiting. Did I mention that it's infuriating?

Teal eventually finishes her interviews. The audience loved her. They always love the young, innocent tributes, the ones who tend to die in the bloodbath. Will Teal die in the bloodbath? Maybe. I don't know, and I'd prefer to spend the remainder of my time outside of the arena _not_ thinking about what's going to happen when I go in.

I go up to the stage and wait as Caesar finishes addressing the audience. Then he turns to me. "Welcome, welcome!" he cries. "Orange - another color name. Huh." He makes a funny face at the audience.

"Oron," I say.

"Sorry?" He leans in. "Didn't catch that."

"Oron," I repeat, louder. "Call me Oron."

"Okay, _Oron_," Caesar says. "As I was saying, we have a few color names here this year. And all from District Eleven. Teal, Gray, Orange. Am I forgetting anything? Skyla?" He laughs. "No, as far as I know, that's not a color. Is it?" He turns to the audience. They cheer and whoop. A few people cry out that it isn't. "Well, the other names are."

I wait for the audience to stop and listen. It takes some time, but Caesar eventually gets them to quiet down. He apologizes for the wait, but it's fine with me. I'm good with not talking. I've done it all my life, what with my father not being around and my mother being old and...senile.

"Oron, Oron," Caesar says. "How do you like the Capitol? In comparison to District 11?"

I think about it. "It's different."

"Different? How so?"

I wait for a few seconds. "Just is. Everything's different." _The people aren't starving and miserable, that's how it's different._ But I can't really say that. The interviews have had too many bad things, and the arena's hard enough already. No use in making our situation worse.

"Would you prefer to be back in the district?" He frowns at the idea, as if he can't possibly imagine that I'd want to.

I shrug. "Maybe."

Caesar shakes his head in mock disapproval. Then he turns back to face me and says, "Tell me about your family, Oron. Tell us about yourself."

I hesitate, and don't respond. Caesar looks at me expectantly, but decides that I need more prompting. "What's your mom like?"

My mom will be watching this. Well, if she's alive, she'll be watching. She'll hear whatever I say. So, I choose my words carefully. "She's different."

"And your father?" Caesar prods.

"Dead."

"Dead?" Caesar repeats. "What happened?"

"He was killed."

Caesar looks like he wants to extract more information from me, but he seems to realize that I'm not going to give any more up. And just then, the timer buzzes, and I leave the stage.


	31. District 12 Interviews

_District 12: Poppy Coalton's POV:_

My dress is pure black. Coal black. Coal, like from District 12. Like from home. It's studded with diamonds. Oh. _Not_ from home. Diamonds are from District 1. Not 12. But the black? Coal. It's the color of 12, you might say. The color of home. Maybe.

Orange - Oron, as he insists you call him - leaves the stage. I practice my lines. Because every tribute has lines before they go on. They're a must-have. Tell them about home. My score. The Capitol. Me. My family. Caesar always asks, and I have to know what I'm going to answer.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Caesar announces, "next up, from far away District 12, Poppy Coalton!"

I gather my thoughts and my wits, and walk up the stairs. One second I'm cloaked in the darkness of the stairwell, and the next second I'm out in the glaring lights, in front of the screaming crowd. I walk to the near glowing seat beside the one Caesar's sitting in, and lower myself into it.

Caesar's asks me something, and I tear my eyes away from my magnificent surroundings to answer.

"Oh, yeah, I'm glad to be here!" I say. "It's great, Caesar, really great."

"It is," he agrees. "What's your favorite part about the Capitol?"

"The food," I blurt out. Really, it's the most obvious answer. "The food's not nearly this good in Twelve. But it's close, Caesar. Everything's so wonderful."

"What's the best thing about Twelve?" Caesar asks.

"Well," I say, "my family's there."

"Yes, tell us about your family," Caesar says. He smiles at me, and leans in, interested.

"Well, my mom's a miner," I begin. "My father's job is to polish things of value found in the mines. And I have two younger siblings. Plume's thirteen, and she's the biggest prankster in the district. Asher's ten, and he's very sweet." I feel a pang of sorrow, knowing that I'm most likely never going to see them again. But it passes, and I regain my cheerful composure.

"I'm sure they can't wait for you to come home," Caesar says.

I grin. "I can't wait, either! I feel like I've been away so long! I mean, I even miss Plume and her silly pranks!"

"What does she do?" Caesar asks.

I emit a huffy laugh. "Well, on reaping day, she attached a _tripwire_ across the door leading out of the house, knowing that I'd be the next one leaving. And I didn't see it, and _really_ scraped my hands." I survey my hands, but the scars have disappeared. "Let's just say that if I'm missing Plume's pranks, that's extreme."

Caesar doesn't argue. He continues asking me questions until the buzzer sounds, and I leave the stage.

.

Haymitch meets me at the bottom of the stairs.

"Not bad," he tells me. "Combine that with your pickaxe, and things are looking up. A bit. Though you're probably still not going to win."

I don't let that put me off, though. "Well, maybe I have a chance," I say.

He shrugs indifferently, and ushers me off to the other lounge, where all the tributes who have already had their interviews are waiting. I find my ally, Patches, and settle down next to him. He waves hello, and we both focus out attention on the huge screen on the wall.

.

Tee walks up to the stage, wearing a black suit and tie. On the way, he trips and lands on his face. Not the first tribute to do so. He stands up, his face red, and continues to march toward Caesar. I watch him. I can't help but be a bit entertained when he nearly falls again, and has to grab Caesar's shoulder for support.

"Careful, careful," Caesar cautions. "Don't want anyone getting injured before the Games even start, do we?"

Tee stares at him, then shakes his head.

"Well, Tee, let's forget about that little _incident_ and focus on our marvelous tribute here, shall we?"

Tee doesn't respond, but he sinks even farther into his chair, somehow.

"So, Tee," Caesar says, "let's get a bit of life into you, shall we? What did you think..." he grins mischievously "...of your chariot outfit?"

Tee turns totally red, and I think about how glad I am that he didn't ask _me_ this question. Tee stares at Caesar, mortified. Then he looks down, and mutters, "Can we please not talk about this?"

The audience roars with laughter, Caesar included. Really, they're not the least bit insensitive.

"Okay, okay," Caesar relents. "So, then _you_ can tell us something about something."

Tee's breath catches. "Well..." He gulps. "Um, I know that no one here expects me to win..."

"That is the most ridiculous thing I've heard all day," Caesar scoffs.

"It's true," Tee says dejectedly. "I don't have a chance."

"Think _positive_, Tee!" Caesar says. "The fiftieth Hunger Games, there were forty-eight tributes! Your odds are twice as good this year."

Tee shrugs. "They're still low. Almost nonexistent."

"Ah, fine, Tee," Caesar says. "Tell us about something else, then."

"My family?" Tee smiles uncertainly.

"Yes," Caesar says.

"So...my parents...their names are Mah and Des...and Loo's my older sister. She's fourteen."

"I'm sure _they_ think you can win," Caesar assures him.

"I don't think so," Tee mumbles.

I lose attention at that point, but I'm aware again when his interview ends, and he leaves the stage - smashing his nose against the floor one more time for good measure.


	32. Countdown

**A/N: Yes, I'm aware that I'm dragging this out impossibly slowly.**

* * *

_District 8: Luda Kein's POV:_

Last night, I dreamed about Pessa. What - _no_! I don't mean that I _dreamed_ about her, like, roses and smiling and loveliness and beautiful dreams. I mean...I mean that I had a nightmare about her. No, that came out wrong. I had...I had a _dream_, and Pessa was in it. Yes, that's better.

Anyways, in my dream, I stand in front of a mirror, wearing a horrible dress. (Gee, I wonder where _that_ came from.) Pessa's face is next to mine, leering at me, her dark curls framing her face. That's one of the ways she annoys me. She boasts about her _beautiful_ hair, and claims that I'm jealous. _Jealous_. As if!

_Nice dress, Luda_, she says. _It's prettier than _you_ are._ She laughs and laughs. _Hey, Luda, I hope you die tomorrow, in the bloodbath. I hope you _die_. I hope that some tribute kills you in the most painful way imaginable. You'll be dead!_ She roars with laughter. I try to open my mouth, to say something, but I can't. _Oh, someone can't speak? _Pessa grins at me. _Aw, poor you. Poor Luda. You'll be dead soon enough, just you wait, and it'll be a great day..._

I wake up, sweating under the thick covers and clenching my fists. _Pessa, I hate you_. I groan and throw off the covers, and then roll out of bed. Not a second too soon: our escort breaks through the door, chattering with excitement.

"Luda, Luda, Luda!" she cries out. "Today's the day! Today! Get up, get up! We're going to have pancakes and syrup from Seven, one of their byproducts, I hear! And then you and Patches are off to the arena!"

She squeals, twirls once, and leaves the room, leaving me sitting on the floor, wearing blue pyjamas, and feeling very, very lost in the world.

* * *

_District 8: Patches O'Neil's POV:_

Pancakes from Seven, huh? What a way to end our lives. Eating food from another district. That has been sent to the Capitol. Who then killed tributes, including from the district that supplied them with this food. Not a great deal for us, is it.

I force myself to swallow a pancake, and to wash it down with a large gulp of water. Luda storms in - she always storms in everywhere, so none of us even look up - and throws herself down in the seat next to mine.

"Today's the day," our escort gushes. "Aren't you excited?"

I stare at the colorful Capitol lady in front of me, and wonder how she can possibly think that I'm excited to die. Well, maybe I won't die. I guess I _might_ have a chance. Maybe.

When we're done eating, an eternity later, I go off to brush my teeth. Then I return, and our escort ushers Luda snd me to the hovercraft platform. My stomach is jumping with tension. We're so close to the arena. So close.

We board the hovercraft, and a tracker is injected into my arm. Then, the hovercraft leaves the ground. At least, that's what they tell us - I don't feel anything.

I stare out of the window at the colorful Capitol roofs and at the crowds screaming below. Waiting for our deaths. Eventually, we move beyond the Capitol, out above the mountains. I wonder if our arena will resemble this. But of course, if it does, it will not truly be the serene landscape we see it as now. Briefly, I wonder if this _is_ our arena, literally. But that thought is almost immediately dismissed. There's no way they'd let us see our arena this far beforehand.

* * *

_District 3: Merlin Avon's POV:_

Eventually, the windows black out. I look into the darkness and try to imagine what kind of arena we'll be thrown into. A forest? An ocean? A desert? A plain field? There are too many possibilities, so eventually I give up on guessing.

They tell us the hovercraft has landed. I shoot a look at Belle. She's trembling slightly, and clenching her fists. We're lead off of the hovercraft, and too the stockyard, as they call them in the districts. The place they keep the animals before sending them to the slaughterhouse. In other words, the Launch Room. My stylist is waiting for me there.

"So, Merlin," she says, staring at me intently. "What're you going to do first?"

I think about it. "Grab some stuff, I guess."

"That's usually the best thing to do," she says.

After that, no more words are exchanged. I put on the clothes I'll be wearing in the arena - a white jumpsuit, a white jacket, and white boots with a tint of blue. Launch comes closer and closer.

30 seconds.

20 seconds.

10 seconds.

I step into the tube. My stylist nods at me. She doesn't wish me good luck, or say anything, though. I hope her message is that I don't _need_ luck. But I know that isn't true.

* * *

_District 11: Teal Gray's POV:_

The tube rises. I stand in moving silence for five seconds...ten...fifteen...and then the tube falls away.

An icy cold breeze hits me in the face. I shiver, and pull my white jacket closer. This is going to be a cold few weeks, that much I know.

60! The countdown has started. Sixty seconds. One minute.

59! My eyes are firmly closed, braced against the cold.

58! I squint out into the cold.

57! I see a shimmer of gold in the distance.

56! The Cornucopia.

55! Where most of today's fighting will be.

54! I know I'm not going to run in there.

53! It's a bloodbath in there.

52! It's not worth it.

51! I'm going to get out of here as fast as I can.

50! I manage to open my eyes.

49! All I see is white.

48! White glaciers.

47! A white plain stretching north as far as my eye can see.

46! And I can see pretty far.

45! There is a cliff behind me.

44! It lets off into a sea.

43! There are platforms of ice.

42! They're floating in the water.

41! Even the tributes are dressed in white.

40! And some blue on their boots.

39! But this white will soon be stained red.

38! Red from blood.

37! Maybe _my_ blood.

36! Or blood that _I_ spilled.

35! I have a tribute to my right.

34! It's Damour Ledd.

33! He's from District 6.

32! I have another tribute to my left.

31! It's Hellia Leston.

30! She's from District 10.

29! She's not right in the head.

28! Or so they say.

27! I clutch my doll.

26! Her name is Agie.

25! She came from home.

24! From District 11.

23! I hear a blast.

22! It nearly knocks me off of my pedestal.

21! That would be bad.

20! I think someone just did that.

19! I turn to see who it is.

18! I don't have to look far.

17! There is a pile of destruction.

16! It's right next to me.

15! Right where Hellia was standing.

14! I wonder what she did.

13! I think I know.

12! It was that little ball she was holding.

11! She must have dropped it.

10! Rattled, I turn away.

9! The numbers are flashing red.

8! Glint turns to the Cornucopia.

7! Eyes full of anticipation.

6! Ready to run.

5! Ready to kill.

4! I'm not ready to die.

3! I must preserve my life.

2! I must run away.

1! I get into a running stance.

GONG!

* * *

**A/N: Out of these four tributes, only one survives the bloodbath. Guess which one.**


	33. Bloodbath

**A/N: ****Note: This is the Hunger Games (which I _don't_ own). Tributes die. Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor.**

* * *

_District 6: Victor Nigel Horninius's POV:_

The gong sounds. I launch myself toward the pile of goodies at the Cornucopia. I have the sponsors, the skill, everything I need. I have it _made_. I am _so_ going to win this.

I grab a big backpack and a handful of awesome weapons. I look for a little tribute to kill. Hayley Borban from I don't remember what district is who catches my eye first. She's stumbling into the area. She looks around wildly, then grabs a bag and tries to leave. Not so fast, Hayley.

I run up to her, wielding my sword. She turns around, terrified. I plunge it into her heart. Blood, bright red blood, explodes out of her chest, staining the white ground. I push my sword in and out, in and out. She screams and screams. Eventually, she slumps to the ground. I give myself a high five and look for another tribute.

Oh, I see another tribute. She stands right in front of me, just a few meters away, holding a small bag and a few knives. Her light brown hair whips around in the wind. Her eyes flash around.

Bella.

I'm stunned momentarily, but I'm jerked to life when I see it.

A knife.

Flying toward her.

The girl from Two, Chayenne, holds a bundle of knives. She's already threw one. It's flying...toward...Bella's...heart...

I'm in action before I know it. I launch myself into the air. I put myself in between the knife and Bella. The knife lodges itself firmly in my heart. I fall to the ground. The last thing I see is a flash of light brown hair and Bella, smartly, leaves the area before Chayenne can finish her off.

* * *

_District 10: Draxton Renaldo's POV_

Hellia's already dead. She was blown up during the countdown. But I still have a chance. And District Ten's rooting for me now.

The gong goes off, and I take a few tentative steps from my pedestal. I advance a few meters toward the Cornucopia, where the first tributes are reaching the weapons. I decide to grab something before clearing out. I throw myself into the frenzy of the fight, rushing toward a bright green bag.

Things are actually going well: the strongest tributes aren't paying me much attention, and I'm getting close to the bag. But that's when I trip.

I yelp as I hit the ground. I find a pickaxe at my feet. My ankle's bleeding dramatically. I wince as I see the hot red blood drain out of me. But I guess I'm lucky it didn't do worse damage.

Suddenly, a girl with dark eyes and puffy dark hair swoops in. She grabs the pickaxe. I yelp again and try to get to my feet. It's Poppy, from District 12. I'm sure she's going to gut me, but she moves away. And as she leaves, I see the boy from Two, Fabian, coming up behind her, axe raised.

There's no time to warn her, which my instinct would usually be. So, I charge Fabian. I knock Poppy to the ground. Her pickaxe grinds into my stomach. Seething with pain, covered in blood, I roll to the side. Panting, Poppy gets up and scampers away. And I'm left on the ground, my life bleeding away, a Career standing above me, carrying an axe.

_This is it_, I think.

Fabian raises the axe. He brings it down on my already injured stomach. I howl with pain. Fabian raises his now bloodstained axe above his head again. I don't think I need to tell you what happens next.

* * *

_District 3: Merlin Avon's POV:_

I lunge for the clump of rope. It'll be the key to my survival here in the arena, that I'm sure of. I scoop it up, and find a small pack of food. _Yes_! I can do this. I look up wildly and spring to my feet. _I've got to get out of here_.

That's when I see him. The boy from Four. Running at me. With a short sword in his hands.

My breath catches in my throat. I scramble to my feet and my feet try to find purchase on the slippery ground. _I'm going to die_. Oh no, how can I get out of this?

The boy - Luxia, I think that's his name - emits a battle cry, and then converges on me with his sword.

The first blow goes through my thigh. I yelp as the gooey red substance that my brain identifies as blood - _my_ blood - seeps out. My leg blazes with pain, unbearable pain. I grit my teeth, or try to.

I flop back helplessly, and Luxtia strikes again. My shoulder. I'm already on the ice, and I'm slipping backwards, away from the Career. I'm on a slant, and I pick up speed. Luxtia watches me slip away, and turns around.

The ground disappears. I fall a few feet down. There's a bone breaking crash, and I'm jarred to reality.

I'm in a hole. A crevice in the ice. And I'm stuck. I can't move. And I'm still bleeding.

The other tributes ignore me. They know I'm already done for. My rope lies feet away, I can see it.

The cold gets to me, and the pain in my leg, and I can feel myself blacking out.

Aquamarine, from District Four, scoops up the rope, _my_ rope, and runs away with it. That's the last thing I see.

* * *

_District 11: Teal Gray's POV:_

As the gong rings, I sprint away from the unwanted action. I hurl myself away from the Cornucopia. I know I can get away alive today, at least. Things are going well. I'm alive.

But that's when I trip.

My foot catches on a spread of uneven ground, and I go sprawling to the ground.

I cry out as I go down. I immediately shush myself. _Can't have them hearing you, Teal! Be quiet!_

I try to get back up. I can't loiter. They'll catch up with me. I push myself to my feet, and instantly collapse again, pain shooting up my legs. My feet can't carry my weight. Oh, man, did I sprain my ankles? Oh, no.

I crawl away, wincing. The tributes will come over here soon. I try to move away, but I'm not making much progress. So I'm not surprised when a pair of Careers approaches me.

The two from Two.

I stare up at them, my eyes pleading. "Please, Chayenne. Please, Fabian." Their names slip easily into my mouth. "I'm - I'm going to die soon enough, anyway. Just let me go." I look up at them. _Please_.

They look briefly like they're considering it. Then they both laugh. Loudly.

"What's in it for us?" Chayenne points out. "_I_ want to get back home. _You_ stand in between me and my goal." She steps closer and pokes me in the chest with her knife. I wince. "So why not kill you now?"

I'm hauled up and shoved backwards. The two approach me, laughing slightly. I slide backwards, the ice stinging my bare hands.

Suddenly, the ice gives way. I topple backwards, into a void of white and red. Then I'm yanked to a stop, and I realize that I'm caught in a gap in the ice. A boy is next to me. Draxton, from Ten. He's unconscious. Maybe dead by now.

But me, I'm still alive. For now.

I can hear the Careers arguing above me. Should they finish me off? No, they're wasting time. Eventually, they run off.

I'm left to die.

* * *

_District 4: Luxtia Emerald's POV:_

Already, I've killed a few tributes. It's nice, being able to kill. I've always waited to enter the Games, to kill. And now I'm here, and

_**Flashback**_

_The boy held a sharp sword. It's bronze blade gleamed in the darkness, reflecting an unseen light. The boy stood, motionless, in the dark hallway. An office door is next to him. A light shines through the window. Someone is inside: a tall man in a neat suit, sitting at a table, a cup of hot coffee in a mug by his side._

**_Flashback end_**

I'm going to make the most of this opportunity.

A short, scrawny boy catches my eye. He's from Twelve, I remember that much. He made quite a...memorable appearance at the chariot rides.

I run over to him, wielding my sword. He sees me and cowers, terrified. I come to a halt a foot in front of him, and decide how I'm going to kill him.

I swipe my sword at his arm, severing it completely from his body. He screams. The sound of his pain and anguish resounds throughout the area. While it may frighten some, it only strengthens me.

Blood drains out of his body, seeping out and staining the ground red. He moans, then screams again. He stares up at me, eyes wide, terrified, begging, thinking there's a chance I'll relent and let him go. Ha. I don't do that.

I raise my sword again, and

_**Flashback**_

_The boy approached the door, his feet moving silently across the cool tiles. He reached the door, and put his hand on the knob. He turned the knob carefully, quietly. He stepped into the office. The man did not see him._

**_Flashback end_**

cut off his other arm. The blood pumps out in satisfying waves. It pools on the ice, and eventually some is absorbed. Tee lets out another scream of anguish and unbearable pain. He turns his face, sobbing. He lets loose a torrent of vomit, and turns to face me again.

"Please," he begs. "It hurts. It hurts!"

I laugh. He thinks I'll spare him? Fine! I will! But not before I get my shots in, make him as irreparable as I can.

In one swift motion, I amputate both of his legs. Tee

_**Flashback**_

_The boy stepped up to the man's desk. The man looked up. He jerked backwards, startled. What was this young boy doing? He was no more than seven years old, eight at the most. What was he doing carrying a sword? The man inquired of this, reluctant to call the Peacekeepers just yet. The boy only smiled._

**_Flashback end_**

howls, tears flooding his lap as well as blood.

I let him stew for a minute, drenched in tears and blood, crying his eyes out, bleeding his life out. I sit back and watch him spend the last minutes of his life a wreck. We're only five minutes into the Games, if even that far, and already he's sealed his fate. I almost laugh.

Tee's sobs eventually turn in to hiccups, but they never truly seize.

"Please," he tries again. "I have a family...my parents, my sister...I have to get back to them..."

"Hate to tell you this," I say quite amiably, "but you never had a chance. I don't _care_ what Caesar said. Heck, I don't even know if he bothered to lie to you! We all knew you'd be one of the first to die."

Tee's eyes

_**Flashback**_

_The man took a few steps farther back. Why was this young boy smiling? Why was he carrying a sword? Why was he in his office? He was the Mayor of District Four! This boy should know better than to trespass in his office. The boy approached the man, sword raised. Oh, was he one of those kids in the training program? That would explain the sword. But not what he was doing._

**_Flashback end_**

well up again. "That's really not nice," he whimpered. "I - I never did anything to _you_. You should really be more polite - "

I cut him off with a short laugh. Was this boy really trying to teach manners to the person who he was at the mercy of? Wow. Twelve is _really_ pathetic.

I hit him on the head with the flat of my sword, and wander back into the battle. There, I spared him.

**_Flashback_**

_The boy charged the Mayor. The Mayor, who had had a bit of training himself, managed to dodge the boy's first attack. But he was unprepared. The boy attacked again, and this time, the Mayor was not ready. He head was the first to go. It toppled to the ground. The boy grinned a feral smile._

**_Flashback end_**

The flashbacks seem to be more frequent when I'm fighting or killing. Or torturing. I remember Tee's screams. They satisfy me.

* * *

_District 8: Patches O'Neil's POV:_

I grab a crossbow as I leave the Cornucopia. I've already got a neon green pack slung on my shoulder. I guess I'm pretty well set for the Games.

Poppy and I agreed that we'd meet away from the bloodbath. I saw her run along the edge of the glaciers. I follow her tracks feeling very satisfied. I survived the bloodbath! I'm leaving the site! I'm almost _safe_!

I break into a run. I slip, and fall to the ground. I've already seen tributes slip, and then were killed. I'm determined not to follow in their footsteps. I pull myself to my feet.

Poppy emerges from the fog in front of me. "Patches!" she cried. "Good, you're safe! Thought for a second you might..." She doesn't finish the thought. Instead, she hefts her pickaxe and motions for me to follow her.

For whatever it's worth, I _do_ try to follow her. But I...can't. My feet won't move.

"Patches," Poppy calls. "You coming?"

"Just a second," I call back. Again, I try to move. But my feet still won't move.

"Patches," Poppy says in exasperation. "Come _on_!"

"I - I can't!" I say.

"What do you mean, you _can't_?"

"I just can't!" I respond, my voice starting to shake. "My feet! They won't move!"

"Stop messing around, Patches," Poppy says, a hint of annoyance coming into her voice.

"I'm not messing around!" I protest. "Really! Please help! I'm stuck here, not sure what's happened - "

Poppy sighs, and I hear her footsteps plodding toward me. She emerges from the fog, shooting me a glare. I open my mouth to protest my innocence, but Poppy won't hear it. She kneels down near my shoes. I wait for her to tell me scornfully that there's nothing wrong, that I'm crazy, but that isn't what happens.

Poppy is silent for a moment, then yelps and backs away. "Patches!" she exclaims. "It was on my hand! My _hand_! It was crawling up. It was! It almost got me, Patches! Patches! You _have_ to pull away! Get out! Otherwise it'll pull you in!"

"Wait a second," I say. "What - "

"We _can't_ wait a second!" Poppy cries. "Every second we wait, it'll be harder to pull out!"

"What is _it_?" I exclaim.

"68th Hunger Games!" Poppy cries. "That white stuff in the snow. Whatever it's called! It attaches itself to you, and then it pulls you in! The tan patches in the snow! Pulls you under! Almost impossible to get out of once you've been in it long enough! Mutt! Remember?"

My breath catches. I remember. The 68th Hunger Games was set in a forest where it snowed day and night. In the snow, they had mutts that pulled you in, I don't remember the name.

My efforts are renewed, and I struggle harder than ever to pull out.

I see them now - long white tendrils that reached out of the snow. The were laced around my boot at first, clearly, but now are growing. I feel them on my knee. The farthest reaches are grasping about my hips.

And I can't pull away. They're too strong.

"Poppy!" I cry. "Get me out! Use your pickaxe! I can't pull away!"

Poppy curses. She runs up to me with her pickaxe raised. She starts hacking away at the tendrils, but to no avail. The milky white tendrils are at my chest now, and my feet are at least a foot below the surface.

"I'm sorry," Poppy tells me. "I can't! You're too far in!" She cuts away a few tendrils that were grabbing her boot. Poppy has tears in her eyes. "I can't! I'm sorry, Patches."

"Keep trying!" I beg her. "Please!"

And Poppy does try. But the tendrils reach my face. My arms are bound helplessly to my sides. I only have a few words left.

"Run, Poppy!" I cry. "Get away! You can win this, you _can_!"

Poppy stares at me, uncomprehending. "Patches..."

"You have to win!" I'm crying now. "Run! They'll be coming soon! I'm dead...anyways..."

I can no longer see. The mutt tendrils have closed over my face, my eyes. I can't breathe, either. And I'm sinking now...and sinking...

* * *

_District 3: Belle Davidson's POV:_

All I got from the bloodbath is a pack so small I can barely fit it around my wrist. Inside, there is a small water bottle and a pack of iodine tablets. It isn't much, but I'm lucky to get this, that I know.

When the gong sounded, I ran right away, scouting for something small I could take. I found this, and then cleared out. Now, I'm at the bottom of a steep cliff, huddling in my coat. It's cold...so cold...it must be ten degrees, at the most...

A cannon booms. Then another. Three...four...five...six...seven...that's all. Seven, counting the one who died during the countdown.

I wonder if Merlin survived. He probably did, but I'm not certain. I'll find out tonight.

.

I'm curled into a ball, trying to conserve heat, when the anthem begins. I look up at the sky. Who died today?

Merlin is first. His picture stares down at me. I pull my coat in tighter.

Victor Nigel Horninius, from Five. What - really? He got, what, a Ten? How did he die? I wonder...

Hayley Borban, from Six. I didn't really know her, but her innocent face and sad eyes hurt me, still.

The boy from Eight - Patches O'Neil. He was decent, too.

The girl from Ten. Hellia Leston. The one who dropped her wooden ball, who set off a mine.

Draxton Renaldo, also from Ten. Ten's out of the competition.

Tee Rahman. District 12. The little kid.

Only seven dead. I'm glad I'm not one of them. I don't plan to be in their count. I don't plan to have a cannon.

* * *

**A/N: Luda is the tribute from the last chapter, the one who survived. Yes, Teal is not dead _yet_, but she'll be dead soon. I count that as a bloodbath kill.**

**Living tributes:**

**District 1: Demeter Arisana Marinos  
Glint Harson**

**District 2: Chayenne Locke  
Fabian Locke**

**District 3: Belle Davidson**

**District 4: Aquamarine Mer  
Luxtia Emerald**

**District 5: Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari**

**District 6: Damour Ledd**

**District 7: Kestra Deelin  
Archer Lux**

**District 8: Luda Kein**

**District 9: Maia Thresher  
Jax Samuel**

**District 11: Teal Gray  
Orange Skyla**

**District 12: Poppy Coalton**


	34. Trapped

**A/N: The mutt we met in the last chapter will be called...Nixrope! Nix means snow in Latin. Great suggestion! But thanks to everyone who gave me an idea.**

* * *

_District 11: Teal Gray's POV:_

The cold has numbed me so I can barely feel my legs, my torso, anything. I sit in quiet anguish. I expect I have a small cut on my chest from where Chayenne cut me with her knife, but apart from that, I have not real wounds. But I have experienced enough to make up for that. Oh, I have.

Let's start with Tee. The boy from Four, I think it was, tortured him and left him, limbless, on the frozen ground. Tee lay there for hours. The bloodbath ended. The Careers set up camp on the other side of the Cornucopia. Tee lay on the ground, bleeding to death, moaning and whimpering. His cannon went off with the other bloodbath deaths. When the hovercraft picked his dead body up, most of his veins had frozen closed, probably, but his body still dripped as it went up.

And then there was Draxton. He was out cold when I landed here beside him. His shoulder was bleeding, and from the stains I see where he was, maybe his leg was, too. He was alive, apparently, until the bloodbath ended. One of the cannons was late, off beat, and I think it was his. And they collect the bodies in order of death, and they picked up his last. When they did, it took quite a bit of tugging and twisting. I was afraid they'd tear him in two, but they got him out in one piece.

There was another dead body close to us, too. The hovercraft came in - a special one with pincers instead of scoopers. It dug into the snow, and extracted a decaying body wrapped like a present in white ribbons. I had stared, mouth wide open, as the body was lifted up. I recognized the tendrils from the 68th Hunger Games, I think it was. Nixrope. Snow rope. It wraps around the victim, and then pulls him down, where they freeze to death beneath the snow. I had hoped they wouldn't have this mutt. There's no way to kill it.

I think back to that body, and the Nixrope. A horrible feeling comes over me - worse, maybe, than the cold: Nixrope could be wrapping around me this very moment, and I wouldn't know it, as I'm numb. The only reason I wouldn't be frozen down there already is because I'm being held here quite firmly by the glaciers around me.

_Think_, I tell myself. I remember something about Nixrope patches being identified by tan-colored spots in the ground. Is the ground around me tan? I look frantically. No, it isn't. I slump down with relief. I'm safe from the Nixrope. And yes - the area where they got the body from is a sick tan color.

Poor boy.

It's day two now. I slept through the night, and now I can't feel anything. I'm truly numb. All over. I sit in a cold, vegetable-like state of being. I can't move, I can barely breathe, I can barely think.

_This is how I will die_.

That cheerful thought resounds throughout my head.

_This is how I'm going to die_.

I hate the Hunger Games. I hate the Capitol. It's their fault I'm freezing here, that I'm going to die. I can feel my life, my sanity draining away. I yearn for my doll, my Agie. She's in my pocket, and I wish I could take her out, hug her...my little rag-tag doll. I wish I could open my mouth, croak some words of farewell to my mother, my father, my district, and Agie...Agie.

At least I did not share Tee's end. At least my blood isn't being spilled. I try to find bright spots in my situation, but obviously, there aren't many.

_I'm going to die_.

Caesar said I had a chance, and I had believed him. But he was wrong.

God, protect me when I die.

I can't feel them, but I know there are tears on my face. Frozen tears. What were my last words? I remember. A moaned _please_ to Chayenne and Fabian. Who didn't listen.

Please. Please, God. Please, Agie. Please, Capitol, see sense, see reason, know what is right, know you are causing more deaths than in any battle in any war...

Please.

I hear a ghost cannon somewhere in the distance.

And that's all.

* * *

**A/N: These are the remaining tributes:**

**District 1: Demeter Arisana Marinos  
Glint Harson**

**District 2: Chayenne Locke  
Fabian Locke**

**District 3: Belle Davidson**

**District 4: Aquamarine Mer  
Luxtia Emerald**

**District 5: Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari**

**District 6: Damour Ledd**

**District 7: Kestra Deelin  
Archer Lux**

**District 8: Luda Kein**

**District 9: Maia Thresher  
Jax Samuel**

**District 11: Orange Skyla**

**District 12: Poppy Coalton**


	35. I have Sponsors?

**A/N: The first cannon is for Teal Gray, from District 11.**

* * *

_District 9: Maia Thresher's POV:_

I've been told many times that I must be violent, and not afraid to kill. My mother told me, my mentor, even my stylist reminded me. And I know I have to kill to complete the ritual. I must find a male to drain the blood out of. Finding one won't be hard. There are still many left here in the arena.

Early this morning, I found Belle. She was curled into a ball at the base of the glacier cliff. She looked just about as cold as I felt, and I was pretty cold. Belle had looked up, seen me, and had managed a smile. Good, I had thought. She remembered me from training.

Now, Belle and I sit together, watching the sun creep up. A ray falls onto the plane where we sit, and I warm up a few degrees. But it passes on, and I'm left feeling colder than ever.

Suddenly, a cannon rocks me out of my seat. I jump up. Belle looks around, frantically searching for predators. There are none.

"Who do you think that was?" Belle asks.

I shrug. "I don't know. Who do _you_ think it was?"

"I'm not sure either," she admits, "but I hope it was one of the Careers."

"Hopefully."

"But it probably wasn't," Belle continues. "They usually last longer than that."

I nod in agreement, my mind leaving the matter. I begin thinking strategy.

"Belle, what are we going to do now?" I ask.

"Stay here and hope they don't find us?" she suggests with a low chuckle.

"I think it'll be better if we move on," I say. "Oh, yeah, and if you see any plants, or anything I can use, please tell me."

"Don't think we'll find many plants here," Belle says. "Not much vegetation. But I'll tell you if I see something...what for, exactly?"

"Poison?" I shrug. "Explosives? I can make them if I get everything I need."

"Maybe a sponsor will send it to you," Belle says, starting to laugh.

"Maybe," I say, a smile creeping up onto my face. Because Belle just made a joke. "Maybe they'll send me a feast and a wooden table, too."

"And a ball gown."

"And a boat."

"A toy boat?" Belle laughs.

"No, a real one," I say. "With rudders and everything."

"And a hovercraft!"

"And a crew of Avoxes?" I suggest. "I don't know how to operate a hovercraft."

"I'll teach you," Belle says.

"You can drive a hovercraft?" I stare at her in surprise.

"No," she says.

I roll my eyes. "The things I could get if - _if_ - I had sponsors. Well, I got this knife at the Cornucopia, so I'm pretty set."

Belle sits up. "You got a knife?"

I pull it out. It has a long, curved, gleaming bronze blade that flashes marvelously in the rising sun. You could call it a sickle.

"Wow." Belle shakes her head, grinning.

* * *

_District 3: Belle Davidson's POV:_

Maia really had the guts to run into the bloodbath and grab something? I just ran away. But here I am now, with an _ally_. An ally who has a knife. This could be the key to my survival here in the arena. Assuming she doesn't kill me with it, of course.

"Did you get anything?" Maia asks me.

"Nope," I sigh. "I got out of there as fast as I could."

Maia nods. She is quiet for a while, then looks back at me. "Have you ever seen beige snow before?"

I start. "Beige snow?"

Maia looks at me curiously. "Have you?"

My blood runs cold. "Why? Did _you_ see any?"

"No..."

I sigh in relief. "Good. Why did you ask?"

"Not sure." She shrugs. "Why did you freak out like that?"

I gulp. "Because...isn't beige snow a...a bad omen in your district?"

Maia frowns. "Well, it doesn't really ever snow in Nine. Just once when I was five. Is it a bad omen in _your_ district?"

I hesitate. "Yes...yes, it is."

"What's wrong with beige snow?"

"People..." I moisten my lips. "People go into it...and then they disappear. In Three, we're sort of in the mountains, so it snows in the winter. A lot. And we always avoid the beige snow."

"What is it?" she asks. "The beige snow?"

"It's..." I pause. "Nixrope."

"Nixrope," she repeats.

"Yeah. Remember the 68th Hunger Games?"

"I was only eleven," she says. "I remember a bit, though. That was the mountain year, right?"

"Yup," I confirm. "Remember the mutt?"

"The mutt..." Maia frowns. "There's always a mutt. Which one?"

"The white mutt. Nixrope. Snow rope. You know?"

Understanding dawns in Maia's eyes. "I remember now. Are...are we near a patch?"

I look down. We're sitting on regular white snow, much to my relief. No Nixrope here. But farther away...I see a patch of beige snow. It's about three meters away, and it spreads as far as my eyes can see.

"There's some over there." I point to the patch. "Watch out. Don't go over there."

"I won't," Maia says. "I assure you, I will _not_."

We sit in silence for a few minutes, watching the sun cast shadows over the land as it rises. Apart from the sound of waves breaking against the shore, it is quiet. There is nothing to say.

Suddenly, Maia yelps. I whip around, dreading seeing a tribute's face as she or he kills my ally. But that isn't what I see.

In front of Maia, a package sits. A silver parachute hangs from it.

She has sponsors.

We wait, astonished. I break the silence. "Open it, Maia! It's for you!"

Maia shakes off her uncertainty, and reaches for the parachute. She opens the container and pulls out two items: a pair of black goggles, and a black mouth covering.

Maia looks up at me, dazed. "I...I have sponsors?"

"Clearly."

"I never thought..." She shrugs and tries on the goggles. She adjusts them, and fits the mouth covering over her face. "How do I look?"

I can't help but smile. "Like a crazy murderer."

"Really?" Maia raises her eyebrows. "Why is that?"

"The black face mask."

"Well, the rest of me is white. And I stand out."

"You _do_ stand out," I agree.

"Oh, well." She sighs. "Let's find ourselves a tribute to kill."


	36. Ritual Completed

_Head Gamemaker: Teylin Ravine's POV:_

Eight tributes dead in 24 hours. Not bad. Really good start. I'll show them first-time Gamemakers can be great. I _did_ bring the Nixrope back, after all. It made quite a bang in the 68th, and for its debut in the 42nd.

I sweep into the room. The other Gamemakers look up briefly, see me, and look back to the hologram of the arena. I walk briskly over to Marja, one of my more trusted fellow Gamemakers.

"How's it coming?" I ask.

Marja looks up. "Great," she responds. "We got Patches, from Eight. I was thinking of putting another Nixrope patch by the shore. What do you think?"

I smile. "Great. Can we lure anyone down there?"

"We already have two," she says. "Girls from Three and Nine."

"Allies?" I guess.

"Yeah," she says. "They saw our other patch. Moved away."

"Too bad," I say. "Anything else we can stir up?"

Marja glances up at the screen, currently showing the Careers huddling around their acquired supplies.

The boy from One, both from Two, the boy from Four, and the boy from Nine. What, from _Nine_? Has Nine been training tributes recently? Oh, yes, we know all about the programs in One, Two, and Four. We just don't care. Got to have _some_ system, right? So, the Careers. Did the girls really chicken out? There's only one girl in the alliance this year, and four boys. Usually there's two or three of both gender. Well, whatever.

Anyways, the five Careers seem to be trying to make a fire from a wooden spear. I smile. We gave them no matches, and there's very little wood in the arena. Only the few wooden weapons.

"It's not working," Luxtia says in exasperation. Or rather, as he mentioned in his interview, I remember, _Luxe_ says. "Really, no matches?"

"Nope," Chayenne responds. From what I've seen, she's usually quite bubbly and kind, but now she's more glum than I've seen. Did we make the arena too cold?

Glint explodes with anger. "_Why_ did the Gamemakers have to do this? No matches? _No matches_? We'll all freeze to death! Not very exciting!"

"Glint, calm down." It's Fabian, from Two. "I'll search right now. See if I can find something we can use. Wood, anything."

Jax speaks up. "Um, Fabian, maybe it should wait for tomorrow."

"Why? It's cold!"

"It's late afternoon, almost evening," Jax responds. "You'll have more time tomorrow."

Fabian, clearly not the best strategizer, considers this, then nods slowly. "Makes sense. Tomorrow, then."

Glint explodes again at this, and I turn my attention back to Marja. "I _said_, is there anything we can do?"

"Stir up, as you said?" Marja raises her eyebrows. "I think so." She nods to the screen. "Fabian's going off alone tomorrow."

* * *

_District 2: Fabian Locke's POV:_

I wake up, cold and shivering. It must be twenty degrees out, probably less. I slept with my arms tucked into my coat, and I'm not ready to take them out. It's _way_ too cold.

"Wake up, Fabian," an irritated voice calls from somewhere above me. Blearily, I pry open an eye. It's Glint. "Time to go off and search for wood."

"Why _me_?" I complain, my usual good-natured attitude gone because of the cold. "It's too cold to be romping around in the snow."

"And that won't change unless you go get us some wood," Jax points out. Are they all already awake?

"We don't even know if there'll even _be_ any wood," I say.

"We have to look."

I open my mouth to say something, but I'm interrupted by a yell from Luxe. I sit up, still drowsy. Are there other tributes here? I reach for my axe. But that isn't the situation.

"Sponsors," Luxe says. "It's for me, clearly. It landed on my lap." No one argues. Luxe opens the parachute. "It's a sword!"

"Don't you already _have_ a sword?" Jax asks.

"Yeah, but this one is _better_. It's sharper, longer, deadlier." Luxe grins. "Time to get killing."

I know I'm not the only jealous one, even if I'm not naturally jealous. Glint is eyeing the sword with extreme envy. I wonder briefly if he's going to kill Luxe just to get to it. Jax doesn't look that envious, but he does look a bit unhappy. Even more than usual.

"Well, get going," Glint tells me grumpily. "We didn't wait last night so we could wait again today."

I feel a pang of annoyance. I pry my arms out of my coat, and wince as I'm struck by the dagger-sharp cold. I stand up, stretching my legs, and grab my axe. Chayenne hands me a bit of food. I begin to stumble away from the camp when I hear a pinging sound.

I perk up, along with everyone else. More sponsors? It seems so. A silver parachute descends from the sky. Maybe it's for me. I move toward it, but it veers away from me and drops into Jax's lap.

Not for me.

Glint can't resist glaring at Jax. Jax looks a bit surprised, but he picks up and opens the parachute. I wonder what he'll get.

Jax pulls out a pair of goggles.

Glint snickers. "Goggles. Super useful."

"No," Jax says. "It'll make it a lot easier to see. And it'll keep my...my face warmer."

Glint lets loose a short laugh. "Sure it will. Why? Is your face cold?"

"Yes," Jax admits.

Glint shakes his head. "It's not _that_ cold."

"Glint, are you _always_ grumpy in the cold?"

Glint cuts off his laughter and turns to face Jax. "Sorry?"

Jax sees the expression on his face, and makes a wise decision. "Nothing. Hey, Fabian, can you go off and start looking now?"

I resume my walk away from the camp. "Fine, but can someone get some water from the ocean down there? Icebergs?"

"I'll do that," Jax says. He gets out of his sleeping bag, and walks in the opposite direction, grasping three bottles in his hands.

I turn around, and walk away. Two sponsors, and of course I get neither. More importantly, Chayenne didn't get sponsors, either. Yes, _more importantly_. I volunteered so she could win. She will, I know she will. Would be nice of the sponsors to help, though.

I begin my search by the shore. I walk far away from the water, but an occasional large wave will hit me, and I'll gasp and retreat even farther. It's so cold. I really hope I find some wood.

I walk for an hour, or ten hours, maybe, I don't know. Time is lost in the cold. I find no wood, no plants at all. I search in vain. Eventually, I notice the sun going down. Still, I'm reluctant to return to the camp, however much my legs burn, however cold I am. My arrival empty-handed will not be taken kindly.

It's late afternoon, I think, when I first hear the voices.

"You do realize there's a patch of Nixrope just over there?"

"What? Seriously?"

I freeze. Tributes. I calm down, reminding myself that, possibly apart from the girl from Four, there are no strong tributes outside of the Career pack. Well, at least not that I've observed. I force myself to remain quiet, and I slowly approach the ice ledge in between the voices and myself.

"Yeah. It's right over _there_. See? Right behind you."

"Ahh! Dang it!" There is a thump, and a lot of rustling as someone hastily moves away.

"Um, you're right near another."

More moving. "Agh! Maia! Why didn't you tell me before?"

Maia. District 9, I think.

"Dunno. Didn't realize we were in an infested area. Sorry."

"_Infested area_?"

"I said, sorry!" Maia says. "_I_ didn't see it! Not until then!"

"Mmph!" The other tribute grumbles something I can't make out. "Wait - Maia, you're sitting on some!"

Maia lets out a shriek, and I hear her scooting hastily away. She breathes heavily, but the sound is soon drowned out in the other tribute's laughter.

"Got you there, didn't I."

"Belle!" Maia exclaims. "That's mean! I really thought..." She didn't have to finish the thought.

Belle. Uh...District Five? No. Seven? No. Um...Three! Yeah, that's right.

"Well, _I_ was actually near some," Belle says.

I stop listening to their conversation, and plan my next move. I decide to creep up on them. Yes, that's good.

I sneak around the icy wall, axe raised. Belle sees me. She shrieks a warning to Maia, who instantly turns around. Her eyes widen as she sees me, and she pulls something out from her coat. I think it's a knife, but that can't be right. How on Earth would she have gotten a knife? Surely she wouldn't have had the guts to go into the bloodbath.

Whatever. It's not important.

I ignore Maia and hurl my axe into Belle's body. She screams in agony. I leap over Maia, and go over to finish the job.

* * *

_District 3: Belle Davidson's POV:_

_Forever_. I had thought this word had meant that I would live forever, forever be remembered, that it meant I would win the Games. But as the axe enters my abdomen, I know this is not true.

Maia turns around as my stomach explodes in blood. I see a white blur going over to me, but I barely register it. My attention is all focused on my stomach, my bleeding body, any the agony this teenager has provoked.

I lie on the ground that is no longer white as Fabian comes over to me. _Fabian_. It seems cruel that I know his name, but he almost certainly doesn't know mine. Fabian wrenches the axe from my body, or at least someone does.

My blood streams out of me in an endless river. I feel light-headed, as well as feeling that I have been cut in two.

_Forever_. My blood will flow forever.

The axe lands again, hitting my shoulder. Another burst of pain. I hear a shriek, and I know it's Maia. Maia, get out! He'll kill you, too!

I'm kicked to the side, and I roll to easily. I manage to turn my head.

I have no arm.

Fabian cut off my arm. My arm! The arm with my ring on it! And indeed, I see the ring, glinting in the fading light. In my mind's eye, I see the inscription on it. _Forever_. Along with an image of Glade.

The axe lands several more times. The pain is unbearable. I scream. Tears mingle with the blood on the ice beneath me. I'm kicked again, and I roll until I'm facing up.

When I look up, I don't see Fabian. I tilt my head, despite the pain. I see two hazy figures. Maia and Fabian. Maia holds an axe. Fabian's axe. Fabian is slumped over, Maia's knife sticking from his back.

Maia must have stuck Fabian while he was working on killing me. Fabian must have dropped his axe, letting Maia grab it. And...now what?

Painfully, Fabian straightens. He reaches back to grab the knife, but Maia had stuck it in a place where he can't reach. He curses, but I can barely hear it over the sound of my blood thumping in my ears. My heart is pumping blood out of my body.

While Fabian is distracted, trying to take out the knife, Maia jumps at him. Very risky. She's small, and not too strong. Not the smartest move on her part. I wait for Fabian to throw her aside, to take the axe, to kill her, then to kill me. But that isn't what happens.

Fabian must have been dazed, or in too much pain, or just not ready for the attack. Maia knocks him to the ground. I can't see what happens next very well, but I hear Fabian yelp a few times.

Maia grunts a bit, and I can see her almost thrown off, but she stays at the task. Fabian tries to throw her off. Maia is almost unseated several times.

Then the knife comes out.

And Fabian grabs it.

Fabian lurches at Maia, knife in hand, but he's clearly not that great with knives. Or maybe it's just that he's injured and being sat on.

Maia rolls off of him, and Fabian gets up. Maia jabs at him with the axe, and hits him in the face. Fabian screams, hard and long. His face bursts with blood.

Maia swipes her axe again, and cuts Fabian in half at the waist.

BOOM!

Maia isn't done yet. She cuts his body open and rubs the insides against the ground. His blood mixes into the ice.

Finally, Maia comes over. She starts talking to me, something about a fertility cult, sacrificial offerings. I can't hear her. I hear another voice.

_"Belle."_ It's Glade. _"I'll remember you, Belle. I'll remember you forever."_

* * *

**A/N: ****Who do you think is going to win the Games?**

**Living tributes:**

**District 1: Demeter Arisana Marinos  
Glint Harson**

**District 2: Chayenne Locke **

**District 4: Aquamarine Mer  
Luxtia Emerald**

**District 5: Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari**

**District 6: Damour Ledd**

**District 7: Kestra Deelin  
Archer Lux**

**District 8: Luda Kein**

**District 9: Maia Thresher  
Jax Samuel**

**District 11: Orange Skyla**

**District 12: Poppy Coalton**


	37. On the Ice Slab

_District 4: Aquamarine Mer's POV:_

It's late afternoon, soon after two cannon blasts - I wonder who died - when a floating piece of ice came over to the shore. I'm from District Four, so naturally I had stuck to the waterside. I had kept away from the water, though. It was _cold_. Cold enough without being in the icy water.

Then, I noticed a slab of ice drifting to the shore. No tributes on it. It was a good two hundred square feet on the surface. If I could get onto it, no tribute would be able to get me. But if I drifted out...nope. That'd be the end of Aquamarine Mer.

Anyways, it's not like I'm bothered by any others right here.

I've been in the arena for a few days now, and I only started out with a bit of food. Most of it's gone by now. Hey, I was hungry.

And I'm cold. I have a sleeping bag, but I can't stay in that all day. Anyways, it's not even enough to keep me warm at night. This arena is cold. _Cold_. You think you know what it's like to be cold? Pick your coldest memories. Drop the temperature a hundred degrees. Change into a swimsuit. That's about how cold it feels.

I have a bit of food left, so my main problem is the still-falling temperature. I bet I'll freeze to death before I get a chance to win. My odds of surviving much longer with only a shirt, jacket, pants, and boots, and a sleeping bag at night...they're not high.

I listen to the sound of the waves. They wash over my ears. Well, my _ear_. I can't really hear out of my right ear, thanks to an infection I got when I was five. So, my left ear picks up the sound of the water, and I'm comforted briefly, reminded of Four, back home. The water. The turquoise waves. The warmth.

I'll be returning there. There's no doubt in my mind. Any uncertainty I'd had is gone. I'm strong. I could be a Career. I'm great with weapons, especially tridents and spears. I'm _strong_. Stronger than them. Better than them. I can win this. Who cares if my right ear's a bit weak? It's not going to kill me. My left ear is good!

I _know_ I will win this.

Back at home, they're rooting for me. They know I'm the best tribute in the arena. They know that I'm obviously going to be the winner. Luxe is strong, pretty good, but I'm not weighted down by an alliance. Oh, my odds are better than his, I'm sure. I can just _picture_ the scoreboard thing in the Capitol. My odds are the best.

I resist the urge to plop down on the ice beneath me. I think my butt'd freeze over if I did. Best to avoid that.

My mind drifts back to District 4. I barely notice the cracks appearing several meters away from me. I only realize what's happened when the slab of ice is adrift, and the only way to get back to the mainland would be to jump into the freezing water and swim.

I'm already in danger of becoming an Aquamarine-sickle. I am _not_ jumping into that water.

I begin to have second thoughts about this decision when I'm farther out. But it's too late. I could not make it back to the shore. If it was warmer, I could do it, no problem. But swimming in icy water for such a distance...not an option.

I crouch on the floating slab of ice. I watch as the mainland disappears. Oh, man. Now I'm stuck on an iceberg with nothing more than the clothes I'm wearing, a small sack on my back, and a few knives.

Sponsors must be tripping over each other to get to my mentor, and to send me something. Of course they are. They're not just going to let me die here.

Night falls. The temperature drops even further. I stuff myself into my sleeping bag, but it isn't enough.

The anthem begins. I wonder who's faces I'll see tonight.

Fabian Locke, Career, from District 2. A Career. A Career! How'd he die? Well, I'm even more obviously going to win now.

Belle Davidson, District 3. Well, I don't really remember her much. Of course she died.

Teal Gray, District 11. Was she the one I saw locked in the ice? Well, she survived longer than I would've expected. But no matter. Se's dead now. I'm alive. _That's_ what matters.

The sky turns dark. I lie in silence, me left ear pressed into the ground. That's why I don't hear the parachute. I only feel the bump as something lands on my body.

I sit up and rip open the parachute.

It's a blanket. A thick, wooly blanket.

I gape at it, then mouth a quick thank-you at the sky. I was right. The sponsors do love me. Well, of course they do. How could they not?


	38. Deep Inland

_District 5: Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari's POV:_

This is Day Three, I think. Yes, it is. Ten tributes are dead. Fourteen are still alive. I am in that fourteen.

At the Cornucopia, I had grabbed a bag with a first aid kit, a few water bottles, a jacket, and a knife. The jacket has proved the most useful so far, in these cold, cold nights. And days. I'm freezing over, even with it, though.

I wonder what my father is thinking. He hates me, or at least he acts like it, and must be feeling quite good about himself. He's managed to wipe out my entire family, and now me, too. Well, not yet, but at the rate things are going, I'm not going to survive that much longer.

I don't want to kill anyone, but this is the Hunger Games. The rule is, kill or be killed. I'd prefer the former. But still, I'd like to keep the killing to a minimum. However much I can.

An icy breeze blows through the icy plane. I pull my jacket tighter. This is torture.

I stayed away from the shore, figuring that's where most of the tributes would go. I must have been correct about that. I haven't seen another tribute since day one. But on the bad side, it means I have to melt my own ice for water.

Or maybe it's better like that. Maybe the ocean water's toxic. But the ice water is cold. I hate drinking it.

I stand, still as a tree, not wanting to move into the wind. When the wind subsides, though, I try to walk.

But my foot is stuck.

My breath catches in my throat. My foot is tied to the ground my growing tendrils. I recognize them, though I was only nine when I last saw them.

Nixrope.

I stifle a scream, and rip my foot away. Disappointed, the Nixrope falls back, squirming to the ground. I stare at the ground around me. It's beige. I remember something about Nixrope being seen on beige snow and ice.

I make a mental note _not_ to step on beige ground again. I don't like Nixrope.

I take out my knife, and scoop up a sliver of beige ground. Hey, don't blame me, I was curious, however much I hate Nixrope.

The ice slithers around in my hand, then freezes. Literally. It turns into pure ice. I drop it.

I'm hungry, too. I haven't had anything to eat beyond the scraps in the first aid kit. Maybe another tribute will leave their food where I can steal it. But the chances of that are slim.

It's late afternoon when I see my first tribute. She has silky black hair in a braid. She's a few inches taller than me, I can see. She has dark olive skin. I don't recognize her. Well, I know she's a tribute, but I don't know what district she's from.

The girl is walking along a glacier edge. She blends in well, as do I. She doesn't see me. I stay as quiet as I can.

I scoot along the glacier's edge. I'm doing pretty well, but the ice is slippery. My feet go out from under me, and I topple to the ground, and slide down the hill, away from the girl.

Oh, I remember, she's from District 1. I remember her reaping. She was reaped. Sort of a surprise. And her name's Demeter. I remember that, too.

Demeter turns and stares at me in surprise. She tries to get away, like I could ever climb up the hill in time to catch her.

She falls down, too. She slides, and lands a few meters away from me.

I grip my knife. What does she have on her? She just stares at me, and tries, unsuccessfully, to get up and run. She falls down again.

I stand up. She stares at me. I can see horror in her eyes.

"I'm - I'm not - " I stutter. "I..."

She looks at me again, than gets up and manages to slide away. I stare at her, then run in the opposite direction.

She hadn't tried to kill me. Weird.

I brush myself off, and get away.


	39. This is What You Get

**A/N: So, the last chapter was a bit dull. In this chapter, however, a tribute will die. Who? Read on to find out.**

* * *

_Head Gamemaker: Teylin Ravine's POV:_

She's survived three days now. Her face has had three opportunities to shine in the arena sky so far, but has done so on none of them. Kestra Deelin is still alive. Her face will be in the sky tonight. I am determined of that.

I go over to Marja. She's adjusting the temperature in the arena, bringing it down to zero degrees. A good move, but not what I'm looking for right now.

"Marja," I say.

She looks up. "Teylin?" She looks nervous for a moment, like she thinks I'm about to criticize her work. But no, that's not my intention.

"How's it going?" I ask. "What've you been doing?"

"I'm constantly changing the temperature," she says. "Brought it up to eighty for about ten seconds, then plunged it to zero. Got a lot of yelps." She smiles.

"Mm." I suppress a smile. Marja, she knows what she's doing. "So, Marja, I've been thinking about Kestra Deelin, from Seven."

"She the one who..." Marja nods. "Maniac. In front of the Capitol, too. In her _interview_."

"So, she's a bad influence," I say. "We need to end her cause. And soon. And we need to make it rememberable. Not a word? I don't care. Like, 'this is what you get if you insult the Capitol', you know."

"She didn't technically _insult_ us," Marja points out. "Just said we'd all go to hell and stuff." She rolls her eyes.

"The _point_ is," I snap, "we need to kill her."

"We do."

"How do you propose we do it?" Marja, if anyone, can find a good way.

"I say..." Marja thinks about it. "I say we have Nixrope get her, but not pull her completely under. Just hold her on the surface, barely visible. Have another tribute come to her, and kill her."

How did she come up with that so quickly?

"Great," I say, a smile spreading over my face. "Oh, yes. We'll be doing just that."

* * *

_District 7: Kestra Deelin's POV:_

I walk along the icy plane, praying. May God damn the Capitol. May He send them all to hell...and let me win the Games. For I am at His mercy, after all.

I hum a prayer to myself. And another. And another. They fill up my being, in place of food. For I have no food. No, none at all. I got nothing from the Cornucopia, and for some reason, no one has sponsored me. Not even God.

_Be patient, Kestra, He will send His help to you in time..._

I know, Mother.

_Be grateful, He has already sent you His help. You are still alive..._

I know, Mother. I am grateful. But I'm also hungry.

_He will send His help, perhaps in the form of food, Kestra. Do not doubt Him, our Lord..._

Yes, Mother. I know.

He has helped me, I know it, He has kept me alive. But I am so hungry. I have not eaten for three days now...at least, I think it's been three.

_Kestra, you did well, you told the Capitol, you tried, you tried. God knows you tried. They hate you now, but you tried to save their souls. God knows you tried. They have sinned, and will go to hell..._

I hope that happens soon. Before I die.

_All in due time, Kestra. God will look after you..._

Good.

My feet lurch to a halt, and I'm to hungry to go on. Even my mother's whispers are drowned out by the sound of my stomach grumbling. My feet give way, and I collapse in a malnourished pile.

Did I mention that I was hungry, God?

I try to stand back up. If I stay here, right in the open, I'll soon be caught and killed. I push my body up. Well, I try to. But I find that I'm strapped down. Perfect white tendrils are wrapping around me chest, me arms, my legs. I feel a few on my neck, and I struggle with renewed effort.

But I'm not that strong. God did not give me enough physical strength.

I cannot break through the tendrils.

I scream, then hastily silence myself. If other tributes hear me, they'll come and kill me. God will protect me in that situation, but He has more important things to do.

This is the Capitol's revenge, I know it. I said they would go to hell, them non believers. I said they had no hope. They would not live.

They didn't want to be saved, to live. They sent these mutts (which I recognize, but cannot put a name to) after their would-be-savior.

"Damn you, Capitol," I say bitterly. "You would be saved, if you had listened to me, joined God. But now, you will go to hell. You will die, and be tortured in hell! May God take mercy on your souls, though you do not deserve it. You will be taught a lesson! People will see why they should not have betrayed God and His cause!" By the end of this, I'm screaming again.

I notice that I'm moving. The tendrils are passing me along, moving me quickly to wherever I'll die, I'm sure.

I am transported for about half an hour. I try to fight the tendrils. But then a strange yet possible thought occurs to me.

What if God sent the tendrils to save me? What if they are carrying me out of the arena, or right to heaven? The thought warms me up. I almost relax, letting the tendrils carry me away, farther and farther away.

A glint of gold, out of place in this almost exclusively white arena, catches my eye. The Cornucopia? Why am I at the Cornucopia?

I hear voices.

"So much beige around here."

"I know, right?"

"Let's move away."

Some scuffling.

"Hey, Chayenne."

"Yeah?"

"Who d'you think killed Fabian."

"Someone strong."

"Aquamarine, maybe?"

"The girl from Luxe's district?"

"Huh?"

"Sorry?"

"You said my name."

"I was asking if Aquamarine was the girl from your district."

"Oh. Yeah, she was."

"She's alive, right?"

"Last I checked."

"Maybe she killed Fabian."

"Probably."

The Careers. I know it's them. I see them, too - a girl and two boys. They don't see me yet. I stay as silent as possible. I stop moving, a few meters away from them. They don't notice me yet, but of course that soon changes.

"Ha, I don't suppose that's Glint?"

"Who?"

"That tiny person over there."

"Oh. Where is Glint, anyways?"

"Getting water."

"Oh, yeah."

"So, who d'you think it is?"

"Not Glint."

"Duh."

"Glint's, like, ten times bigger than that. Don't kid yourself, Chayenne."

"Ha ha."

"Looks like the girl from Eight."

"No, the Luda's bigger than that."

"She's more of a midget?"

"Yup."

"The girl from Five?"

"Don't think so."

"Seven, I think."

"Methinks Jax is right."

The three Careers come over to me. They smirk at each other.

"We caught a tribute."

"No duh, Sherlock."

"Technically, the Nixrope caught her."

"Well, _we_ get to kill her."

I stare up at them, horrified. "God will never forgive you for your sins - "

"Yeah, I don't believe in that rubbish," one of the boys says.

"Oh, is this the midget who showed up the Capitol in her interview?" This last comment comes from a new boy, who holds a few water bottles. "Awesome, we get to kill her." He smiles cruelly.

"Who wants to do the honors?"

"I will," one of the boys says immediately. "I want to try out my new sword."

"Kill away, then, Luxe."

The boy, Luxe, bends over me, grinning. "Hi there, District 7. Time to die."

And he stabs downward.

The next few moments are ones purely of pain, of screaming, of laughter coming from the Careers. I writhe, and plead.

I die alone, without God's help.

_You were not worthy, Kestra. May God have mercy on your soul._

* * *

**A/N: ****Living tributes:**

**District 1: Demeter Arisana Marinos  
Glint Harson**

**District 2: Chayenne Locke **

**District 4: Aquamarine Mer  
Luxtia Emerald**

**District 5: Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari**

**District 6: Damour Ledd**

**District 7: Archer Lux**

**District 8: Luda Kein**

**District 9: Maia Thresher  
Jax Samuel**

**District 11: Orange Skyla**

**District 12: Poppy Coalton**


	40. The Coldest Night

_Head Gamemaker: Teylin Ravine's POV:_

"Marja," I say. "Marja, what's the temperature?"

"In the arena?" She looks up. "Fourty."

I scowl. "That warm?"

"Should we bring it down?" Marja asks.

"Yes," I say. "It's the sixth night. Plunge the temperature, Marja."

"How low?" She smiles mischievously. "Negative one hundred?"

"Not _that_ low," I say. "But colder than you've ever made it."

Marja purses her lips. "Negative ten? They have pretty think coats for an arena outfit, but that should be...rattling."

"Negative ten," I repeat. "Sounds good, Marja."

Marja grins, and twists the temp dial past thirty, past twenty, past ten, past zero, to negative ten degrees. I look up at the screen, at the Careers now preparing for bed.

The tributes are really in for a hard night.

* * *

_District 9: Jax Samuel's POV:_

Chayenne's been really distraught ever since Fabian's death a few days ago. But nothing important has happened since, so she's started to calm down.

I finish eating the fish that Luxe caught today when we sent him fishing. It isn't bad. Really, it's better than a lot of the food I ate back at home. My father kept all the good food for himself. I got the leftovers, if even that. I was lucky to get any food at all.

"It's cold," Chayenne murmurs.

"It wouldn't have been if Fabian had found some wood," Glint mutters.

"Don't blame Fabian," Chayenne protests.

"Why not? If it wasn't for him, we'd be warm," Luxe points out.

"He was caught!" Chayenne says, her voice cracking. "They killed him before he could - "

"He was weak," Glint says. "He was killed by a tribute. He let himself be killed! And did you see, most of the tributes are so _lame_ this year!"

"It was probably Aquamarine," I say. "Not that easy to evade, if I'm, right."

"I don't know about that, but she's a Career," Luxe says. "Just like us. We have to watch out for her. She might be a threat."

"She killed Fabian?" Chayenne whimpers.

"We think," I say.

"Guys," Luxe says, louder. "I know something about Aquamarine. Her ear - her left, I think...no, her right... - is damaged. Not sure why, but it's bad. She won't be as well protected on that side."

"I'll kill her," Chayenne says bitterly. "She killed Fabian. I'll kill her."

"We don't know if she killed Fabian," Glint says. "Fabian was weak. Betcha another tribute could have killed him."

We sit in silence for a while. The temperature drops even more. I bury myself in my coat, and eventually resort to stuffing myself in my sleeping bag. Eventually, all four of us are in our sleeping bags. Well, Chayenne isn't. Neither she nor Fabian has one. We only found three. So, Chayenne curls up in a ball. My sister's face appears in my mind's eye. I look at her, the roses clutched in her hand. The shadowy figure of my father behind her back.

"It's cold." Chayenne's voice breaks me out of my thoughts. I glance over at her. She's shaking violently. She sees me, and then looks away. "It's too cold. Too cold."

We listen to her groans for the next hour or so. I can feel te cold through my sleeping bag. It bites at my exposed face, sinks through my sleeping bag, and freezes me where I lie. If I'm this cold, I can barely imagine how cold Chayenne is, without a sleeping bag.

I hear a pinging in the distance. I force myself to look up. I swear I can hear the creaking in my neck as I do so.

It's a silver parachute.

Instantly, I'm sitting up, grabbing at it. s it a blanket? Another coat? Something to warm me up?

It's not. I open it up, and find a knife. Still good, even if it doesn't contribute to my body heat. It's a very good knife, too - serrated edges, long, slight curve.

"Guys," I whisper. "I got a knife."

Glint rolls over so he faces me. "A knife?"

"A knife," I confirm.

Glint makes a growling noise in the back of his throat. "Why don't _I_ ever get sponsors?"

I consider my next words carefully before uttering them. "You're already great with your sword. I guess they figure there's no getting better."

Glint doesn't respond.

A few hours later, I hear the boom of a cannon. I sit up, startled.

"Who d'you think that was?" Luxe asks sleepily.

"I dunno," I respond quietly.

"Well, I hope it was Aquamarine," Glint says. "She might be a problem."

That's when I see the hovercraft materialize overhead. The smile melts off of my face, and I look at the lump huddled next to me. The lump that is - was - Chayenne. I poke her. She doesn't react, but I can feel her skin - cold, too cold.

"It wasn't Aquamarine," I say quietly. "It was Chay."

"Chayenne?" Luxe looks a bit surprised. "That's...lucky."

I don't respond. Chayenne died, too? Well, at least it means I don't have to kill her. Because soon, I'm going to be killing Glint and Luxe. If I can, anyways.

* * *

_District 6: Damour Ledd's POV:_

I'm colder than I've ever been. Thirteen years, all broken by tonight's record. It must be under zero degrees. Okay, so Six isn't the warmest district (I think it's Eleven). But the temperatures rarely dip below twenty there. Here, right now, it's colder than ever before.

I don't have a bag, a sleeping bag, a blanket, or anything at all that might be useful in this situation.

I huddle by the ice cliff, shivering horribly. I'm curled up in a ball. My breathing is quick and ragged. I can feel my life draining away in the cold.

_If you are reaped, Damour, you can win_. My mother's words come back to me. Can I really win this, though? I can barely think in the cold.

I stop moving, only just alive, I somehow know. Minutes are what stand between me and death. And those minutes turn into seconds.

I remember my mother. My district. My father, who died. The Capitol, who killed my father. And who will be responsible for my death.

Mother, forgive me. I left you. I know I won't return. You will live alone, now, no husband, no son...

I thought I could do this, maybe. Maybe. I was wrong, Mother. I could not.

I am going to die, Mother. I'm going to die now.

Remember that time when I gave you the seashell? It wasn't real. It was plastic.

Remember that time I told you I aced the test? I actually got a seventy-five.

Remember that time when you said I could win the Games? You were wrong.

I'm sorry, Mother.

* * *

_Teylin Ravine's POV:_

The boy dies, and his cannon fires. My attention next focuses on the girl.

Maia, is it? Yes, Maia. From Nine.

She lies in a pile of white clothing. She has little to keep her warm. I know she will die tonight.

Maia is sleeping. She does not stir when I motion for Marja to twist the dial down another ten degrees. I wonder if any of the tributes are comfortable and warm. Probably not.

Not my problem.

Maia shivers continuously. She breaths uneven breaths, short, ragged, harsh. A curl of her brown hair flutters up with every breath. I can barely see her face, she is buried so deeply in her coat.

I watch her as she stops moving. I listen as her cannon goes off. I watch her as the hovercraft descends. I watch as her body is scooped up.

"Marja," I say. "Marja, time for the anthem and the death count."

Marja nods, then places the seal in the model arena in front of her.

The anthem begins. Chayenne's face is first. Then Damour. Then Maia.

No blood today, none yesterday, none the day before. That will have to change...

* * *

**A/N: ****Living tributes:**

**District 1: Demeter Arisana Marinos  
Glint Harson**

**District 4: Aquamarine Mer  
Luxtia Emerald**

**District 5: Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari**

**District 7: Archer Lux**

**District 8: Luda Kein**

**District 9: Jax Samuel**

**District 11: Orange Skyla**

**District 12: Poppy Coalton**


	41. Off of the Ice Slab

**A/N: Shout out to Hoprocker, my 100th reviewer.**

* * *

_District 4: Aquamarine Mer's POV:_

Over the last few days, sponsors have sent me a spear, and some food. The food's nearly gone, because I'm alternating between eating it and eating fish that I catch.

It is cold here, on the moving iceberg thing. I'm not sure what to call it. It's not an iceberg. No, icebergs are bigger, and they don't move. Well, at least, I don't think they do. I wouldn't know. We don't have icebergs off the shore back home in District 4.

I'm not sure how long I've been here. But I've been cooped up for a while, and though my legs are screaming at me to give them some practice, I'm reluctant to try my luck and stand up. I'm not sure how flimsy this thing is, and I do _not_ want to capsize. I sit, wrapped in my blanket.

Last night, there were three deaths. I'm not sure why. I was almost cozy, wrapped in my wooly blanket, stuffed in my sleeping bag. Well, not _cozy_, but it felt like it was...fourty degrees. I'm sure that was a great improvement from what most tributes experienced.

I spot a fish in the water, and raise my spear. It wanders over to me, and I stab it, almost lazily. I scoop it from my spear, and drown it in the clean ice next to me. I can almost see the salt leaving it.

I look up like I do every few seconds, it seems like, hoping I'll see the shore. I never do, so I'm not surprised when all I see is and endless field of floating slabs of ice.

I sigh and munch on a cracker. It helps, but not much. I'm slowly starving to death, here. Well, I suppose that lots of the other tributes died from the cold, so I'm lucky in that sense. I guess.

I look forlornly at the fish by my side. I'm taken back to another time. Another era.

**_Flashback_**

_Neptune grabs at me excitedly. I stare at my six-year-old brother. He must have been calling me for a while now. This is usually the case. My ear's bad. _

_"Aquamarine," he says excitedly. "Aquamarine! Look, I caught a big fish! It's huge! Look!"_

_I look into my younger brother's grimy hands. He holds a fish larger than any of it's kind I'd seen before._

_"That _is_ big, Neptune," I agree. "Where'd you find that?"_

_"I was on the raft," he explains. "They have the biggest fish off the shore, because most people fish on the shore."_

_"Nice," I say. "We having that for dinner?"_

_"Sure," he says. "I'll clean it off right now!"_

_He dashes off._

**_Flashback end_**

This fish isn't nearly as big, but it still jerks my memory.

I sit on the iceberg, my butt freezing off. It's cold. Really, really cold. I move over and sit on my blanket. I shiver uncontrollably. How did it get so cold?

My ear picks up the sound of the waves smashing against the ice slab. And also...against land.

I look up, surprised. The slab has returned to the shore.

I hop off. Finally, I'm back on the mainland.


	42. A New Alliance

_District 7: Archer Lux's POV:_

A knife and a blanket, that's all I have. The blanket has proved very useful these past few nights, as well as the days. The Gamemakers have been plunging the temperatures so low that I spend every night shivering uncontrollably. I don't have a sleeping bag to keep me warm every night, so I have to rely on the blanket the sponsors sent me the other day.

I bet many of the previous deaths were because of the cold. Well, this arena is backfiring on the Capitol. Most tributes are dying as a result of their messing with the temperatures.

I stand in front of the steep incline of the cliffs that tower above me. How much longer will I be here? Will I die, or will I emerge the victor?

I hold my knife, and am struck by a flashback.

_**Flashback**_

_It is late afternoon in District 7. A boy from the poorest past of town crouches by a building, or rather a shack, holding an axe in one hand, and a pocketknife in the other. He wedges the pocketknife into the hilt of the axe, loosening the blade. He works on the axe for a good half an hour before dropping it back in the bin where it was stored._

_The eleven-year-old boy walks down the streets of District 7, tired from a long day at work. But he knows the work isn't over yet. He still has to train with is axe. It was a precaution his mother had insisted on, paranoid that he might be reaped one day. He opens a bin by the side of a house in Victor's Village. He takes out an axe, and heads over to a barn behind the house for some practice._

_The axe holds up for the first few swings. The boy attacks a stone dummy in the corner of the shed. But the axe does not stay together for long._

_It is the eighth strike when it came apart. The blade flies from the handle, lodging deeply in the boy's shoulder. He howls with pain and surprise._

_An hour later, the boy is in District 7's hospital. His family is one of the few that can afford it, his mother being victor of the 51st Hunger Games. A doctor sews stitches in his arms. The hospital is running low on painkillers, and the boy clenches his teeth. The axe had almost ripped his arm off. It was just luck that it hadn't completely severed the bone._

**_Flashback end_**

I remember that day. My arm aches with the memory of the axe stuck in it.

I trudge slowly along the base of the cliff, barely alert. But I do hear it. I hear the footsteps, crunching along the ice. I freeze. It's another tribute. Hopefully not a Career, but I'm not sure. There's no safe guessing in the arena.

* * *

_District 11: Orange Skyla's POV:_

I'm walking along the base of a cliff when I see him: the boy from Seven. Is that the one I saw in the training room, when I was fighting with what's-his-name, the Career? I think it is.

I see him from a distance. He's tall, almost as tall as I am. Maybe taller, I'm not sure, he's too far away to really tell.

It's Archer Lux, from District 7. I remember him. The son of a victor, right? Let's compare our mothers. His is a victor, rich, probably very responsible, and reliable. I bet he doesn't have to take care of _her_. And my mother, on the other end - the old, crazy woman. The one who I look after, because she can't take care of herself.

Archer turns around. I stiffen, and back into the cliff, hoping my white clothing will help me blend in. But he sees me.

We're both silent. I can almost see the Capitol waiting with baited breath. Will they fight it out? Will they run away from each other? But neither of these is what happens.

"Hi." I raise my hand in a small wave, then bite my tongue and pull down my hand. _What was I thinking_?

Archer frowns. "We're in the middle of the Games, I may be about to kill you, and you say 'hi'?"

I shift, uncomfortable and slightly embarrassed. "As opposed to what? 'Hi, I'm Oron Skyla, and I'm here to kill you, so you'd better kill me before I get the chance'?"

There is a ghost of a smile on Archer's face. "No, that would be worse."

"Anyways, _are_ you planning to kill me?" I ask.

"If you try to kill me, yeah," he responds.

"And if I don't?"

"Then I'd, I dunno, go away."

I shrug. "Well...what do you say, we team up?"

Archer stares at me. "Like, become allies?"

"Yeah. We'd both survive longer, right?"

"I guess." He shrugs. "All I have is a knife and a blanket, though. Not much bounty."

"Are you kidding me?" I say. "Blankets are _essential_. I have a sleeping bag, but it doesn't really keep me warm. I have a bag, a bow and a bunch of arrows, and a knife."

"So, are we allies?" he asks.

"Your call."

"I say yes."

"Then yeah, we are."

* * *

**A/N: The next chapter should be featuring Poppy Coalton. **


	43. Tied Down

**A/N:: ProsePoesy101 is doing a SYOT, and plenty of spots are open. **

**Two days after the last chapter...**

* * *

_District 12: Poppy Coalton's POV:_

Every night, Patches's death is reenacted in my mind. I see him, his feet rooted to the ground, being pulled under, crying out for me to do what I could not; cut the Nixrope, free him. I see him, all wrapped up like a present on Christmas Eve, lying at my feet, terror in his eyes. And then his face is the only thing I see, the only part of him still above the ground, but soon even it is sucked down, into the icy ground...

I wake up, hyperventilating, sure the Nixrope is grabbing me, too. But it never is.

I remember the days when I was a cheerful, bubbly, naïve girl, without a real problem to worry about. That was a while ago. That Poppy has disappeared in the past week, giving way for a grimmer, sadder, more..._weighted_ Poppy. It's the Capitol's fault.

I wish I had Patches by my side now. We could be laughing an sharing stories of home, maybe. But no, he is in District 8, in a box. Dead.

I pick up my pickaxe and hurl it into the ice. Into the beige spot. Well, in its heart. _Kill_ the Nixrope. it killed Patches. It probably killed so many other tributes, too. _Die_, Nixrope. You've claimed so many lives in your career as a Capitol mutt.

I had imagined that I'd have an ally for a good amount of the Games, until they were killed and I ran away from the attacker, preferably after killing them. I Hadn't imagined that they'd be killed less than three hours in, pulled into the icy terrain by a ruthless mutt.

It's mid afternoon. Having nothing else to do, I try to remember who's still alive.

Um, the girl from One, right? I don't remember seeing her face in the sky.

The boy from One. He's the Career. The really strong one who may be the biggest threat in the arena.

From District Two...they're both dead, I think.

District Three. I remember seeing the boy's face the first night. And the girl...didn't she die just a few days ago?

The boy from Four. Another Career. And the girl, too. I hope I don't run into her.

The girl from Five. Surprisingly, the boy died in the bloodbath. Oh, well, it's the Curse of District Five. Everyone knows about it. And I'm not complaining. The boy got a ten. A _ten_.

Both from Six are dead. They died early on.

The boy from Seven's still alive, I think.

Luda, from Eight. But Patches is dead...the Nixrope took him.

The boy from Nine. The one who joined the Careers.

The boy from Eleven.

And me, of course. I'm still alive.

That's ten tributes left, I think. The girls from One, Four, Five, Eight, and Twelve. The boys from One, Four, Seven, Nine, and Eleven. Ten out of 24. I wonder who'll die next.

I walk into the beige snow to retrieve my pickaxe. But...it's stuck. What...

And then it hits me. _Nixrope_. The Nixrope it pulling it under. Oh, dang it. Why did I have to throw my weapon into a Nixrope patch? I groan, and try once again to pull it out, but I can't. Oh, great. Now I'm alone in the Games _without_ a weapon.

My pickaxe disappears into the ground, and I stand, immobile, staring at the place where I last saw it. _Alone and weaponless_. Great job, Poppy.

I groan, and turn to walk away. No use staring, waiting for my pickaxe to come back. It's never coming back. Neither is Patches...

But my feet aren't moving. I gasp, then bite back a curse. The milky white Nixrope tendrils are wrapping around my ankles, now. I scream, and thrash around, trying desperately to free myself.

But I waited too long. The Nixrope has had a few minutes now to strengthen and reinforce, and without my pickaxe, I have no hope of getting out.

I lunge for the Nixrope where my pickaxe disappeared. I feel the tendrils claiming my arms, my wrists, but I can't rip free. I _must_ get to my pickaxe. It's my only hope.

I scream as the first tendrils wrap around my neck. I try to fight back, but I have eaten barely anything for the last few days, so my strength level is low.

Nixrope is negative something degrees, apparently. I scream as my neck is wrapped in a freezing cold collar. I shriek and let everything go, kicking and biting, trying in vain to fight off the mutt.

But soon I am immobilized, and can only lie in fear, freezing pain, and agony as I'm secured and tugged down by the Nixrope.

I know what will happen next. I'll be dragged into the ice, into a coffin of ice, where I will freeze to death as the Nixrope sucks out my moisture and vitamins. I will be reduced to a prune, probably before the hovercraft manages to rip me up and take my dead body away, where it will be put in box and shipped back to twelve.

I moan and cry. It's cold..._soooo_ cold...I can't so this...

Above me, the daylight is fading rapidly. The temperatures are plunging even more. A think tendril is slithering over my left eye. Another is partially blocking my right.

Was it really only an hour ago that, in mindless frustration, I hurled my pickaxe into a patch of Nixrope?

Minutes pass, and soon my face is all that's left above the ice.

It's cold...

It's soo cold...

I can't do this.

I'm freezing to death.

I can't...

And then I'm completely under. Completely submerged. Freezing in an agony of cold, pain, ice...sorrow... I can't see anything, I'm numb, I'm plunging under...

Plume, you have to...to prank the Capitol...to make them _regret_...the deaths...my death...all deaths...it's your duty. You _must_, Plume. You must...show them that...that we're...that we're _people_, Plume. Not just...not toys, playthings...to die...entertainment...you must...must end the Games...I don't know...how...just...somehow...you can...you must...

* * *

**A/N: So, I'm going to camp today (I'm at a road stop right now, actually), where the internet access is bad, and often just goes right out. So I can't promise frequent updates, and don't be surprised if there are huge chunks of time when I can't update. It's not my fault.**

**Living Tributes:**

**District 1: Demeter Arisana  
Marinos Glint Harson**

**District 4: Aquamarine Mer  
Luxtia Emerald**

**District 5: Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari**

**District 7: Archer Lux**

**District 8: Luda Kein**

**District 9: Jax Samuel**

**District 11: Orange Skyla**


	44. Nixrope Strikes Again

**A/N: I am ****_so_**** sorry. My computer broke down. I just got it fixed, and now I'm on this really weird wireless network. I didn't think I'd be unable to update for so long, so soon after the warning. I'm really sorry. I can't promise frequent updates, but I'll try.**

* * *

A figure is huddled at the base of a glacier. It's a girl, sixteen or so years old. She has silky black hair in a braid tucked into her coat. She is curled in a ball, fast asleep. She shudders violently with each breath, as icy air is sucked into her lungs.

Demeter Arisana Marinos. District One. The child of two victors.

It is the ninth day of the 71st Hunger Games. She has not eaten in days. The thin white jacket she wears is not enough to block the icy blasts of wind. She lies deathly still, her exposed skin as white as the snow resting on it. Frostbite is beginning to take its toll.

Far beneath the frozen earth, white tendrils stir, sensing the warmth of a human body far above. They shift in the ice, moving upward, toward the surface. They push toward the heat, to grab it, to claim it, to drag it down.

The first Nixrope tendril breaks through the surface. It flails in the icy breeze, then grabs at the sleeping tribute's ankle. It latches on, and waits for its brethren to join it.

The next tendrils come through. They attach themselves to Demeter's leg.

Then, the bulk of the Nixrope emerges, grabbing at the girl, pulling on her, dragging her. Demeter's calf is grabbed, the tendril creeping into her pants and slithering up her leg. She wakes at this icy sensation, letting out a weak cry. She tries to pull away, but nine days of freezing temperatures and no food have taken their toll, weakened her. The Nixrope is too strong.

Helpless against the mutt, Demeter is wrapped up like a present left out in a blizzard, and slowly pulled under.

Her arm is the first to go. The Nixrope drags it down, and Demeter is tipped to the side. Her legs are submerged next. Demeter lies, lopsided, squirming to no avail. Her breathing is short and harsh. She was thirteen when the Nixrope was last use in the Games, she knows there is no escape from Nixrope once it has you this far in.

The milky white tendrils are wrapping around her neck, her shoulders, her face. As they pull the last of her body down, Demeter musters enough energy to emit one last scream.

And then she is gone.

The cannon booms seconds later. Demeter Arisana Marinos is dead.

* * *

**A/N: What two words is nightlock derived from?**

**Living Tributes:**

**District 1: Glint Harson**

**District 4: Aquamarine Mer  
Luxtia Emerald**

**District 5: Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari**

**District 7: Archer Lux**

**District 8: Luda Kein**

**District 9: Jax Samuel**

**District 11: Orange Skyla**


	45. Interviewing Glint's Family

The Capitol reporters swarm District One. They are expected; District One tribute Glint Harson has made it to the final eight. His friends and family had received notice that the reporters would be coming to their houses, where they would be interviewed.

The reporters first stop is Glint's house, where his parents and younger sister sit in quiet anticipation. The funny man in the neon yellow suit and the purple hair knocks on the door. A little girl of maybe twelve years opens it. She has light hair in pigtails and bright blue eyes. She lets the reporters into the house, and leads them up a spiral staircase into a huge room, where her parents are seated.

The reporters take their places around the room, and the man in the neon suit joins the three on the couch.

"Hi, I'm Lenard Stebbel, and I'm glad to have you here today." He beams at them. "I'm going to be asking you a few questions about Glint, okay?" When they all nod, he continues, "So, tell me, what's Glint like back home?"

The little girl grins. "He's awesome! He showed me a sword, once! His play sword!" She smiles again. The sword was real, and they know it. No one develops Glint's skills in the three training days in the Capitol.

"I'm sure that was fascinating," Lenard says.

"It was!" she agrees. "It was huge and shiny, and he - " She cuts off mid sentence. You can't really go around saying that someone cut themselves with a _play sword_. She knew that.

"You're Maybell, right? His sister?"

"Yeah," she says. "Maybell Harson." She smiles again, and shifts her arm so the reporters don't see the very sharp knife tip emerging from her sleeve. Not that she planned to do anything with it - yet - but it was her favorite knife, and she'd hate it if the Capitol took it away. And then she'd have to find another knife to train with.

"So, Maybell, what was Glint like to you?"

Maybell shrugs. "He's cool. We used to play...tag." Tag with a sword for him and knives for her, but still tag.

"Tag?" Lenard repeats. "Who was usually It?"

"Him," Maybell says. "I'd hide, and he'd come after me." And when he found her, she'd run, and he'd chase her, sword in hand, and she'd deflect his blade. Or maybe she'd get cut, and she'd hide again - this time from her parents. But she couldn't really tell them this, either.

"It sounds like you two had a good time together," Lenard says. He turns to Glint's parents. "Mr. Harson, Mrs. Harson, what were Glint's favorite pastimes?"

Mr. Harson smiles. _Training to follow in my footsteps, become a victor, win the Games_. "He's usually out with his friends, or...studying at the Academy."

_Studying._ Maybell laughs softly. Sure, studying...studying the art of killing. "I study at the Academy, too! I'm very good, they say."

"I'm sure you are." Lenard's eyes twinkle. "Anything else?"

"Well, he works out at the gym," Mrs. Harson added. "He's there a lot. Sometimes Maybell joins him."

Maybell smiles slyly, shifting the knife in her fingers. She isn't nearly as strong as her brother, but she's a lot smarter. She knows there's not much more they can say without giving away, in plain view, the fact that Glint trained. The many kids train. That she trains.

"How successful is he?" Lenard asks.

"He's very successful," Maybell says. "I wish I was like him." She digs her fingernail into the knife's hilt. She strokes the flat side of the blade, and remembers the day back when she was seven, when she nearly killed the school bully with this knife. Snuck up on him, stuck the blade into his back, close to his heart, as close as she could manage, then pulled it out, ran away, wiped the blood from it. He was in the hospital for months. No more did he torment her, or any other children. Oh, she and her knife had history together.

* * *

The reporters' next stop was the Fide household, where Glint's friend, Risk, lived. Risk opens the door, and lets them in. His face darkens when he sees Lenard. He remembers their last meeting - when his sister was in the Games, when she was his age, four years before. Right before she died.

Risk sits on the bench inside. Lenard sits next to him.

"Risk, Risk," Lenard says. "I remember the last time I was here. Four years ago. Your sister, yes? I remember. Silk. She almost made it!"

Risk bites his lip. "But she didn't. That boy from Two killed her." He scowls.

"She came close," Lenard says. "But we're not here to discuss Silk today. We're here to discuss Glint Harson. Know him?"

"Yes." Of course he knew him. Lenard wouldn't be here if he didn't.

"So, how long have you known him?" Lenard asks. "How did you meet him?"

"I met him when we were thirteen," Risk says. "I had just moved into the town, and started in the Academy. It was my first day, and I had no idea where to go. He directed me to my class. We had many of the same classes, so we became friends."

"Were there any others in your group?"

"Not really," Risk answers. "Just the two of us."

"Was Glint your best friend?" Lenard asks.

"Yeah, he was the first person I really met when I moved to the town," Risk says. "All the others were...well, let's just say the new kids don't start with the best reputation."

"Does Glint generally take new kids under his wing?"

"No," Risk replies sourly. He was usually the one teasing. The only reason Risk had avoided that was because he'd beat up some of his tormentors. Not that Glint was afraid. Fear wasn't generally part of Glint's nature. He'd just respected Risk more than he did most new kids.

"So, I have one last question, Risk," Lenard says. "If you could say one thing to Glint right now, what would it be?"

Risk frowns. "I could say a lot of things, but I'd probably say...that he's doing really well, and he only has to kill seven more people - if even that many - to win. He can do that. And I'd wish him good luck, and say that we're all rooting for him back here."

"Thank you, Risk."

A few more words are exchanged, and then the reporters duck out of the house.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you liked this chapter. If you could send in some possible questions and answers, and who I should have interviewed, it would make it a lot easier. Thanks.**

**-Skylark**


	46. Interviewing Aquamarine's Family

Lenard marvels at the speed of the Capitol trains as he walks to the Mer household. It's not even ten o'clock in the morning, and already he's on his way to interview the second tribute's family and friends.

He knocks on the door. There is some scuffling, and then a nine-year-old boy with short coppery hair and blue-green eyes opens the door. He grins when he sees the reporters, and shows them to the room where the interviewees are sitting.

There's a young woman at the end of her teens in a rocking chair, with the same coppery hair and aquamarine eyes as her brother - and Aquamarine. On the small couch sits Aquamarine's parents - a ship captain, and a baker. On chair next to them sits a black-haired, green-eyed girl about Aquamarine's age.

Lenard takes a seat on an empty chair. "Hello, hello. I'm Lenard Stebbel, and I'm here to ask you a few questions about Aquamarine. Cool?"

They all nod, and the little boy pipes up, "You're from the _Capitol_?" Lenard nods. "_Cool!_"

"You're her brother, yes?" Lenard asks the boy.

He nods, wide-eyed. "I'm Neptune. I'm nine."

"And you're her sister?"

The elder teen nods. "I'm Marina."

Lenard turns to the younger teen on the chair. "You'd be Nerissa, right? Aquamarine's friend?"

Nerissa nods shortly.

"And you would be Aquamarine's parents." It wasn't a question. The family resemblance was clear.

"So, my first question is, if you had to describe Aquamarine in a few adjectives, what would they be?" Lenard asks.

"She's really funny," Nerissa says after a moment. "She can always make me laugh."

"She's pretty social." This one came from Marina. "She's a lot more social than _I_ am."

"She's awesome!" Neptune says, bouncing on his chair.

The two parents look at each other, then at Lenard. "She's more...guarded and secretive than we would've liked."

Lenard nods. "Interesting." He turns to Nerissa. "How long have you known Aquamarine?"

"For a while," Nerissa says. "We - " She stopped. She was about to say she trains with her, but she probably shouldn't mention that. They aren't allowed to train. "Um, we go to school together."

"I've known her for...nine years," Neptune adds. Marina rolls her eyes, turning her head so he doesn't see.

"What did Aquamarine do in her free time?" Lenard asks. "What were her hobbies? Was she usually in the house, or away somewhere?"

Aquamarine's mother replies, "She's sometimes around the house, but usually she's down at the port, swimming or boating. And she liked to hang out with her friends."

"Me, her, a few others, we're often at the water, maybe the port, or at school. They have cool...equipment at the gym," Nerissa adds. "Weights, nets, ropes, fishing rods, stuff for...squirmishes down at the water..." How else was she to say spears, tridents, swords?

After a few more questions, Lenard addresses Marina and Neptune. "What was Aquamarine like as a sister?"

"She was cool," Marina says. "Maybe a bit annoying at times, but aren't all siblings?"

Neptune shoots her a glare. "She was great! She taught me to swim. I was...two years old? No, one? One, right, Mom?"

"One," she confirms. "August. After that, you never got out of the water."

"One last question," Lenard says. "One I like to finish with. If you could say one thing to Aquamarine now, what would it be?"

Neptune rushed to speak. "She _needs _to come back! And she can, I know she'll win, she's the best out there. But I miss her, so the sooner the better!"

"We all miss her," Nerissa says. "When she comes back a victor, we'll throw a big party - just her, me, and her closest friends."

"I'd tell her she's doing awesome," Aquamarine's father says, to which her mother responded, "And she is. She can win this; we're just waiting for her to come back."

Marina was the last to speak. "I'd say...I'd say that there are seven more to die, and I'd prefer it if she wasn't one of them."

A few good-byes are exchanged, hands shook, and the reporters leave the Mer household.

* * *

**A/N: What did you think? Oh, yeah, and ProsePoesy101's SYOT still has plenty of open spots.**


	47. Interviewing Luxe's Family

Lenard Stebbel enters the Emerald household. He sits down next to the teenage girl, Luxe's sister, Amber. She's the only person he's interviewing for Luxe.

Lenard bows. "Hello, Amber. I'm here to interview you about Luxe."

"I know," she says absentmindedly, her fingers playing with the seams on the couch.

"So, you two live - lived - here alone?" Lenard asks.

"With our parents, yeah," she answers. "I was going to move out soon, but then they died. Two days before the reaping. And Luxe is still underage, so I couldn't just leave him here. And then he volunteered, and I've lived here by myself ever since."

"Luxe told us about your parents," Lenard says.

"I know, I watched the interviews."

Flustered, Lenard asks, "How did they die?"

"I don't know." Amber's face is a mask of no emotion. "We woke up, and Luxe went to the Academy. I was going to leave and go fish. I usually go to the docks with my dad, because he works there, but he wasn't anywhere. Neither was Mom, but she doesn't work at the docks, so I wasn't looking for her. And so I realized they were probably both still in their rooms. I went and knocked on their door. There wasn't any response, so after a while I decided to go in anyway. And they - they were both still in bed. And they were both dead."

Lenard is quiet for a moment. "You don't know how they died?"

"No," Amber says quietly. "Maybe they were poisoned. There wasn't any blood, aside from in the vomit."

"Vomit."

"Yes." Amber takes a breath. "They - it looks like they got sick. There was some vomit, with blood in it, but apart from that, there aren't any clues as to how they died."

"Oh. Let's, um, talk about something else."

"Good," Amber says.

"Who are Luxe's friends here in District Four?"

"Oh," Amber says. "He usually hangs out with his friends from the Academy. They fish and stuff."

"Did he have a lot of friends?" Lenard asks.

"He had a few close friends," Amber answers.

"What did they do together?"

"Well, as I said, they fish a lot," Amber says. "And they swim, and canoe, and kayak. And they often hang out in the gym, or in the Academy."

"One more question, Amber." Lenard's eyes gleam. "Do you think he can win the Games?"

"I do," Amber says firmly. "He volunteered so he could win. He's capable of it, certainly. He'll win, I know it."


	48. Interviewing Bellatrix's Family

**A/N: Thanks for all of the reviews! They really made my day.**

* * *

Noon. Lenard Stebbel and his cloud of reporters walk to the house where tribute Bellatrix Jessamine Kolkari used to live. They're all starving for lunch, which will be right after. Lunch marks the halfway point in family interview day.

The reporters arrive at the small house. Lenard knocks on the front door. There is no response, but he hears the squeal of bedsprings somewhere behind it. Lenard knocks again.

Nothing.

Lenard sighs. "Look, I know you're in there," he says. "This is Lenard Stebbel. We're coming to interview you about Bellatrix, _as you know_. So, please open the door."

There is some scuffling from behind the door, and then the door is pushed open. A teenage girl stands behind it. Lenard and the reporters start to push their way in, but then the man comes.

Tall and forbidding, the man fills up the doorway. He shoves the girl behind him. "Reporters," he says.

"Y-yes," Lenard says. "You - you were informed of our arrival. Your daughter, Bellatrix - you are her father, correct? - has made it to the final eight. Surely you know that?"

"Right when I thought she was gone," the man grumbles.

"Sorry?" Lenard can't believe his ears. "Look, Mr. Kolkari, surely you know that when eight tributes are left, we come and interview their family and friends."

"Of _course_ I know," he says. "Why else would I be anywhere near Bellatrix's no-good friend?"

Lenard wasn't sure what to say. "Er...uh, Mr. Kolkari, may we come inside?"

"Do I have a choice?" he snaps.

Lenard smiles. "No. No, that's quite right. You don't have a choice."

.

"So, you would be Junia, correct?" Lenard smiles at the girl.

"I'm Junia," she confirms.

"How old are you?" he asks.

"I'm fifteen," she answers.

"Bellatrix is twelve, though, right?"

"Yeah, Bella's twelve," Junia says. "But we go - went - to the same school. We met a few years ago, and we've been friends ever since."

"So, Junia," Lenard says, "what were you thinking when Bellatrix - Bella - was reaped?"

Junia swallowed. "I...I thought to myself, she was twelve, I was fifteen, I had a better chance than she did. I...I almost volunteered."

"What held you back?" Lenard asks.

"Her father."

Lenard turns to the man. "Why didn't you want Junia to volunteer?"

He hesitates before answering. "Well, Bella had gotten in, and I didn't see why fate should be messed with. And I'd prefer it if Bella won that if Junia won," he lied.

"You think Bella can win?" Lenard asks.

"No," he replies simply.

Junia sits up. "She _can_ win. She's _is_ going to win. She's going to beat them all."

Mr. Kolkari smirks. "She could never make it. She's a weakling. How she's survived this far, I don't know."

"She is _not_ a weakling," Junia insists. "She's the strongest out there. Really. She's better than them all, morally. Inside. She has what it takes to win."

Mr. Kolkari thumps the couch angrily. "She's _twelve_! A little baby! She has no hope."

Junia opens her mouth to argue, but Lenard steps in. "Okay, okay, we'll see if she lives or dies. But now, I have some more questions for you."

Junia shoots Mr. Kolkari a glare, then turns to Lenard.

"This question is aimed mostly at Bella's father," Lenard says. "Bella talked a bit about her mother and brothers. Can you tell us a bit more about them?"

"Her mother was a lunatic," Mr. Kolkari says. "Ran away looking for District Thirteen or something stupid like that. Left in the middle of the night. I woke up, she was gone. Bella was talking about how she ran off to look for a dead district."

"She went looking for _Thirteen?" _Lenard repeated skeptically.

"She seemed to think it was still functioning, despite being nuked a century ago. She wasn't right in the head."

"And what about her brothers?" Lenard asks.

"Well, the eldest was reaped for the 64th Games. Died in the bloodbath. Stupid curse of District Five." Mr. Kolkari shakes his head. "Left me with a son and a daughter."

"What happened to the other boy?"

"He committed suicide," Mr. Kolkari says. "The coward was reaped, he committed suicide before the Games even started."

"So all of your children were reaped," Lenard says. "That must be hard on you."

"Not really," he says. "The eldest was fine. He was brave. But Bella and her other brother were cowards."

"Bella isn't a coward," Junia insists. "She's strong. She's made it to the final eight!"

"I made her take all the tesserae so we could see what she's made of," Mr. Kolkari snaps. "Make use of a piece of trash. If she wins, we get rich. If she dies, I don't have to put up with her. It's a win-win situation for me."

Lenard can see they aren't going to get anything else out of Mr. Kolkari. Plus, he's hungry.

"Thank you to you both for answering our questions," Lenard says. "Now, we'll be going."

The reporters stifle their sighs of relief, and they head back to their train for lunch.


	49. Interviewing Archer's Family

Lenard Stebbel's golden watch reads 1:40 when the Capitol train pulls into District Seven. The cameramen and journalists follow the famed reporter off the train and onto the cement platform. Lenard is struck by the smell of pine trees. He looks out of the station window to see a think, luscious, dark-green forest.

The District Seven man who will be directing them around the district sees the Capitol people staring at the forest.

"Seven's all like this," he says. "Just some permanent clearings here and there for the houses. The trees are specially engineered to grow quickly. You cut down a tree, a new one takes its place. That's my usual job - I help make sure there are seeds where there are no trees."

The reporters admire the forest for another minute, and then their escort leads them through a paved path in the forest. After walking for five minutes, they reach the town, the biggest deforested area in Seven. The man takes a road leading away from the town. Another few minutes, and they're walking through a street of large, fancy houses.

Victor's Village.

The escort stops in front of one house. "This is it," he says. "Inside, you'll find Archer Lux's mother, father, sister, and two friends of his."

They thank him, and take refugee under the porch roof. Lenard rings the doorbell. It echoes inside the large house.

A minute later, the door opens. A tall woman stands at the doorway. Archer's mother, victor of the 51st Hunger Games.

"Oh, you're here," she says. "Come on in."

They pile in the front door. She leads them to a large living room. It isn't cold out, yet a fire burns in the fireplace. A man and three teens sit on a long couch.

The cameramen set up their cameras, and Lenard sits on the empty chair.

"As you know," he begins, "Archer Lux has made it to the final eight, and we've come to ask you some questions about him. My name is Lenard Stebbel and..."

They nod. "We know," Archer's mother says. "We've been expecting you. We've known since the last tribute died. And we've been watching the Games, so we know perfectly well that Archer has made it to the final eight."

Abashed, Lenard tries to master his expression of slight annoyance. He doesn't completely succeed. "So...yes," he says. "Pardon me, of course you knew."

The woman looks at him expectantly. She is silent, but it's clear what she's thinking. _Just get on with it_. _Ask your questions so we can be done with this_.

"So," Lenard says, "before we get to the questions, can you each introduce yourself, please?"

His parents are first. They each give their names.

The youngest girl speaks up next. "I'm Amelia. I'm thirteen."

"You're Archer's sister, yes?" Lenard asks.

She nods.

The teenage boy opens his mouth to speak, but the eldest girl cuts him off. "I'm Cara Willows. I've known Archer for quite a while." The boy tries again, but once again, she interrupts him. "Oh, and this is Aven Blisit. He's fourteen. He can't speak."

"I can too speak," he argues.

Cara pretends to be shocked. "He talks!"

"Of _course_ I talk, Cara," Aven says tiredly. "So, yeah, I'm Archer's _closer_ friend. I've known him all my life. My mom was his mom's friend."

Lenard nods. "We're all intertwined." Cue Archer's mom's snort. Lenard shoots her an irritated look before continuing. "So, now I'm going to ask you all some questions. Cool?" Exasperated look from an obvious culprit. "So, what were you all thinking, what was going through your mind, when Archer was reaped?"

"It obviously wasn't what I'd hoped for," Archer's mom replies icily. "You can imagine I wasn't that happy about it."

"I didn't think he'd ever get reaped," Cara says. "He's never taken any tesserae. I take quite a bit. But somehow, _he _was the one who got reaped. It was...weird."

"I wasn't expecting it," Aven mumbles.

Amelia avoids Lenard's gaze. "I - I couldn't believe Archer had been reaped," she says quietly. "He'd taken no tesserae. He only had four entries in that huge bowl. But one of them was picked out. I was shocked. Maybe more than he was."

"Did you think he'd get this far into the Games?" Lenard asks. "How far did you think he'd make it?"

"Archer's strong," his father says. "I've made sure of that. I knew he'd survive for a few days at least."

"If he'd died, I'd have been shocked," Archer's mother says. "And I wouldn't be very happy with him. He knows that. He'd better win. He knows I expect that of him."

"I thought he'd have died long before now," Cara admits with a short laugh. "Sure, he's strong and stuff, but our district doesn't tend to make it far."

Aven glares at her. "I knew he'd make it," he says. "He probably...won't win...but he's made it pretty far, just like I expected him to."

Reluctantly, Amelia says, "I didn't know he'd get this far. I didn't know if he'd die on the first day, or if he'd make it this far. I had no idea."

"This question is mostly directed at the victor in the room," Lenard says.

Archer's mother looks at him expectantly. "Come on, ask it."

"So, you've experienced the Games," Lenard says.

"Obviously, if I won them."

"You know what it's like," Lenard says. "You know the struggles, and what it takes to overcome them. So tell me this: do you think Archer has what he needs to win?"

Archer's mom considers this. She answers, "He can probably get to the top four. That is, if he finds some food... But can he win? I hope so. But I'm not psychic, so I can't really tell you."

After asking a few more questions, the cameramen pack their cameras, and the Capitol crowd walks back to the train station, where the train is waiting for them.

* * *

**A/N: So, I haven't decided who's going to win yet. I'm choosing between three of the remaining eight. No, I won't tell you who. You'll find out.**


	50. Interviewing Luda's Family

It's 3:30 when Lenard Stebbel and his reporters sit down in the Kein household. The interviewees are Luda's parents, her twin sister, Pessa, and her friend, Adrian.

Lenard introduces himself, and the four introduce themselves in response. The two adults in their mid-forties are Luda's parents. The teenage girl with the dark blond hair is Luda's twin, Pessa. The teenage boy about Luda's age is Adrian, Luda's best friend since third grade.

"What do you all think of Luda?" Lenard asks.

"She's annoying!" Pessa bursts. "She's boring, annoying, and hopeless. I can't stand her."

"Pessa." Her father gives her a warning look. "We don't talk about our siblings like that."

"It's true," Pessa insists. "I really - "

" - She didn't deserve to be reaped," Mrs. Kein interrupts. "She was sweet and nice, though a bit troublesome."

"She somehow managed to put up with Pessa," Mr. Kein teases, playfully mussing Pessa's hair.

Pessa jerks away from her father. "See? All the adults, they think she's - "

" - a lot like you," her mother intercedes.

Pessa glares at her. "I am _not_ like Luda. Luda was a kiddie brat. Annoying and hopeless. I hated her. I'm glad she's gone."

"Pessa!" Mr. Kein grips his daughter's arm. He scolds her quietly.

"Luda was cool," Adrian says, tearing his eyes from the pair at his right. "She was always duping the others." He laughs slightly. "None of the teachers could stand her. Neither could most of the other kids."

"Luda had problems!" Pessa cries out, turning her face from her father's stern one.

"She _was_ different," Adrian agrees. "I wouldn't classify them as _problems_, but maybe that's just me."

"It is just you," Pessa confirms.

"Okay, okay," Lenard breaks in. "Anyways, what were you all thinking when Luda was reaped?"

Pessa replies, "I was happy. It was awesome. I was hoping and hoping that she'd be reaped, and then she _was_ reaped. It was great."

"Pessa, you'd better fix your attitude this second." It is her mother.

"What, and give the reporters inaccurate info?" Pessa grins at her mother. "Better to tell the truth here, I think, wouldn't you say?"

Mrs. Kein opens her mouth to reply, but her husband interrupts. "I was horrified," he says quietly. "My daughter, reaped, in the games..."

"Honestly, I was more concerned about being reaped myself," Adrian admits. "I didn't think there was much of a chance of _her_ being reaped. But then she was reaped, and...and I forgot my own worries." He blushes slightly. "I mean, Luda, she..."

Lenard looks at him curiously. "Were you and Luda together?"

Adrian turns positively scarlet. "Were we...together? We're only fourteen. But I will admit, I did sorta have a crush on her..." He looks down, hiding his face.

"For how long?" Lenard asks.

Adrian shakes his head. "Not at first. When we met in third grade, we were best friends. I only considered her a friend until about seventh grade. And then I, well, realized that...I liked her. I don't think she knows."

Now completely embarrassed, Adrian looks away.

Lenard claps his hands. "So, do you think Luda can win?"

"I hope not," Pessa says, surprising no one.

Adrian glares at her. "I hope she will. And she will. I'm pretty sure. She definitely can."

"I hope she wins," Mrs. Kein murmurs.

Lenard continues asking questions, and soon gets to his favorite. "If you could say one thing to Luda right now, what would it be?"

"Die. Don't bother to come back. I don't miss you, and neither does anyone else sane." I'll give you one guess at who this is. Yep, you got it.

Adrian is next. "I need you to come back, Luda. Please. You can do it. Only seven more deaths."

"Come back, please," is all Mrs. Kein can say.

"You can do it," Mr. Kein says. "You can. You're better than all of them, and you're going to win. I can just tell."

* * *

**A/N: List the remaining tributes in order of who you most want to win to who you most want to die. Still alive: Glint, Aquamarine, Luxe, Bellatrix, Archer, Luda, Jax, and Orange.**


	51. Interviewing Jax's Family

**A/N: So, I've averaged the lists, and here's the result: **

**1- Aquamarine **

**2- Archer **

**3- Glint **

**4- Luxe **

**5- Bellatrix **

**6- Luda **

**7- Orange **

**8- Jax **

**I will consider this list when choosing my victor - I still haven't decided - but it will not be my only reference. Our remaining three Careers (Glint, Luxe, and Aquamarine) will also be more likely victors. The other tributes may win, but their odds are lower.**

* * *

The three District Nine residents sit in the largest room in the small house. The middle-aged man holds a bottle of Nine beer, half full. The woman sits by his side, still and straight as a statue. Not moving, not speaking. The fourteen-year-old girl sits to the side of the woman, looking apprehensively at the closed door.

The clock strikes four. At the same moment, there is a loud knock on the door.

The three sit in silence. Then, the man turns to look at the girl. "Open the door," he orders. She frowns and starts to say something, but he cuts her off. "Open the door. Now."

She stands up, and tiptoes over to the wooden door. She twists the doorknob, and pulls the door open.

A crowd of journalists, cameramen, and reporters stand outside.

"Come in," she says, glancing back unsurely. They pile inside, and follow her to the room where the adults sit. The girl takes her seat on the far end of the couch.

The short, thin man in the bright purple suit and the freshly curled green hair sits down across from the three. "I'm Lenard Stebbel," he says cheerfully. "AS you know, I'm here to interview about Jax, who has made it quite far along in these Games."

"We know," the man says dryly. "I'll give _you_ a goal. Ask your questions, and be done by the time I finish this bottle." He takes a big swig from the huge bottle.

"I'll try," Lenard says. "You would be Jax's dad, correct?"

"Apparently." The man scowls.

"And you're his mom?" Lenard turns to the woman.

"Yes," she says simply.

"And you are Alice, correct?" Lenard smiles at the teenager. "Jax's friend from the community home?"

She nods, and Lenard realizes he probably shouldn't have mentioned the community home. He smiles warmly at her. Maybe it'll make up for it.

"So, tell me this." Lenard smiles. "Did you all know Jax was going to volunteer? Did he tell you why?"

"No," Mrs. Samuel says.

"He doesn't bother to tell anyone anything," Jax's father says. "Ungrateful little..." He proceeds to call his son a variety of names, none the least bit friendly.

Alice glares at Mr. Samuel. "He told me he was considering volunteering," she admits, glancing nervously at Jax's father. "As for why, uh...he said he wasn't happy here..." Mr. Samuel turns to look at her, and she averts her eyes quickly.

"Why wasn't he happy here?" Lenard asks.

Alice considers this. "He...I, uh, don't know."

Lenard sits back. "All right then. So, Mr. Samuel, Mrs. Samuel, you said you didn't know he was going to volunteer. What were you thinking when he did?"

"If he wins, we go to Victor's Village, and we're rich," Jax's dad says. "I couldn't say I was disappointed."

Mrs. Samuel shrugs and nods.

"Do you think he's going to win?" Lenard asks. "How far do you think he'll get?"

"I think he'll win," Alice answers immediately.

"I don't," Mr. Samuel says. "But he'd better. I want to be rich."

"And live in Victor's Village," Mrs. Samuel adds.

"But if he doesn't win, it's fine with me," Mr. Samuel says. "One less mouth to feed. And anyways, I've really been enjoying his time away."

"Okay," Lenard says. "Jax mentioned he has - had - a sister. Can you tell us a bit about her?"

"She was killed by a mugger," Mr. Samuel says carelessly. "She came back late one night, all beaten up. She was dead by morning. Well, she never was much of a daughter." He shrugs.

Lenard frowns. "Killed by a mugger? That's not what Jax said."

"_Jax_ is a liar!" Mr. Samuel yells. "I told you what _really_ happened. Don't you ever believe anything Jax says. She was killed by a mugger!"

He turns toward his wife, jabbing her in the ribs with his elbow, his face a mask of fury. "Tell him! Tell him how Mari, that piece of _filth_, died!"

"She was killed by a mugger," Mrs. Samuel says flatly. "Don't believe Jax."

"See?" Jax's father turns back to Lenard. "Jax was a friendless, beggar jerk. He was a liar. He was a miserable little excuse for a son. I should have beaten him even more, shown him what you get when you're such a disgrace!"

"Ah, yes," Lenard says. "Did you beat Jax and his sister a lot?"

"Whenever I needed to," Mr. Samuel says fiercely. "Whenever they showed their pathetic, unworthy nature. Which was quite a lot. It didn't seem to have much effect, though. I needed to sometimes several times a day! They didn't listen. Trust me, I was actually quite relieved when the girl went. And now Jax's gone, too." He shrugs. "Maybe he'll win, maybe he won't."

Lenard stares at the man for a moment, then turns to Alice. "Changing the topic. Do you know if Jax had a girlfriend?"

Alice bites her lip. "Um, no, I don't think so. But a lot of girls liked him, I think."

Lenard leans in. "Were you among those?"

"Did I like Jax?" She looks apprehensively at Mr. Samuel before answering. "I...I guess I did. Sort of. I don't think he knew, though." She laughs slightly.

A few questions later, Lenard is finished. He thanks the three, and the reporters pack up and leave the house.

* * *

**A/N: If you had to choose one tribute to win, which tribute would it be?**


	52. Interviewing Orange's Family

The frail woman sits on her old, wooden rocking chair. She mumbles incoherently to herself as she rocks back and forth. She has graying hair pulled back in a bun that is coming undone. She isn't much more than skin and bones. She looks much older than her forty years.

At ten till eight, there is a loud knock on the door. The woman's head snaps up. Her eyes are as wild as a feral animal. Trapped. She stares at the door.

There is another knock, this time accompanied by a voice. "Um, Mrs. Skyla, it's me, Jake. I need to come in for the interview, remember? I don't have keys."

The woman stares suspiciously at the door, not giving any sign of standing up to answer it.

Outside, Jake continues to knock. A few minutes later, she has still failed to answer the door.

"Mrs. Skyla!" Jake calls. "Just _open the door_. They'll be here in a few minutes, and then you'll need to open the door for them, too!" He pauses, and then says, "And if you don't let them in, they'll break down the door."

_They'll break down the door_. From in the recesses of the woman's mind, a sliver of sanity emerges. _They'll break down the door_. She doesn't want that to happen.

Slowly and painfully, she hoists herself up and plods over to the door. She yanks on the doorknob. When the door fails to open, she bangs on it and thrashes the knob around.

Hearing this, Jake says, "Just turn the doorknob clockwise, and then pull the door toward you, okay?"

She twists the doorknob around, and shoves it away from her.

"Try pulling it," Jake suggests.

She growls, and yanks the door toward herself. A moment later, she is staring at a teenage boy a bit younger than her son.

"Good job," Jake says. "So, I'm going to come in, and we'll wait for the reporters to come, okay?"

The woman backs inside, and Jake comes in, shutting the door behind him.

* * *

Six minutes later, Lenard Stebbel and his reporters are sitting in the biggest room in the Skyla household. Their cameras are all set up, and the interview has begun.

"Hello, hello!" Lenard cries cheerfully. "I am Lenard Stebbel, and I'm here tonight to interview the two of you about...drumroll, please...Orange Skyla! ou know him, yes?"

"He was my best friend," Jake says.

"Ah, yes, Jake Gardner, yes?" Lenard beams.

"Yes, that's me."

Lenard turns to the woman. "And you are Orange's mother, correct?"

She stares at him.

"I though so!"

She looks away.

"So," Lenard says. "First question for _you_, Jake. How long have you known Orange?"

Jake frowns. "For a long time," he says. "Years and years. Since we began school, I think."

"And when you first met, did the two of you like each other?"

"Well, when we met, we were in Kindergarten," Jake replies. "I didn't really know him, and he didn't really know me. I think he thought I was a bit annoying. I thought he was weird. But then, probably in second grade, we became friends, sort of. And now we're really friends."

Lenard nods. "I see. Did Orange have many other friends?"

"Oran had a few," Jake says. "Not very many. He had more when he was younger. But...his family situation sort of made it harder to get friends. Especially among the littler kids."

"Family situation?" Lenard leans forward.

"Oran's parents," Jake explains. "His father was killed by muggers when he was nine. Nine-year-olds...tend to not be very sympathetic at school. And his mother, well..." He glances at the woman on the rocking chair. "She's been like this since her husband's death. Though she never really was..." Jake decides not to say the word, but it is clear what he means. She never was normal.

Lenard shakes his head sympathetically. "How did Orange deal with the death of his father? And his mother's...condition?"

"He...withdrew from the world, one could say," Jake says. "Oran started working out when _he_ was mugged when he was thirteen. He had to be home more, also, to help his mother. He changed a lot. I helped out, gave them food."

Lenard turns to Oran's mother. "May I ask you something, Mrs. Skyla?" he asks.

"Something else." Jake smirks.

"Yes, something else," Lenard acknowledges.

Oran's mother stares at him.

"How did you, Orange, everything change when his father died, and again when he was mugged?"

She rocks violently in her chair. Three seconds pass. Five. Ten. Lenard is opening his mouth to ask something else when she responds.

"He died, and I...hated them. Oran, too," she murmurs. "Oran ate more fish, but I didn't have... Mugged him. They did. Oran hated them. I didn't...wasn't... Then Oran came, half dead. Muggers. Hated... He left me...every day he did. Went somewhere. And then he left again. Where is he?"

She bows her head, and cries horrible, anguished sobs.

Lenard stares at her, then continues with the interview. He fires question after question at Jake, who answers them robotically. But the mood has changed. Gone is even Lenard's pretense.

Soon, the reporters pack their cameras, and leave the house. They return to the train station, and head back to the Capitol.

* * *

**A/N: Yay, we're finally done with the family interviews! Now we can get back to the Games! I have a plot all planned out. Next chapter should be out...whenever I can get it out.**

**Now, who do you _think_ is going to win? Rate from likeliest to least likely. (I know I've been asking the same type of question over and over. Bear with me. I'm still in the process of calculating training scores, reviews, probabilities, etc., to determine the winner. (Just kidding. I'm only referencing them.))**


	53. Down to Six

**A/N: No, the number in the title is not referring to a district. In this chapter, two will die. Which two? Read on to find out.**

* * *

It's the evening of Day 10. The arena is freezing cold. A tribute with brown eyes and hair grey and wispy from malnutrition sits on the frozen ground, curled into a ball. Her body is numb. She has lost both ears to frostbite, and the icy wind rushes into the gaping holes where they once were. She imagines her twin laughing, laughing at the barely conscious girl on the screen.

A 12-year-old girl clenches her coat around her as she stumbles away from the Nixrope patch behind her. She braces herself against the cold. Her head is tilted downward. She is facing the ground. Her face is numb. She has already lost two fingers to frostbite. Bellatrix can barely see where she is going.

But she sees the older tribute on the ground. _Luda_, she recognizes. Her hand goes to her knife. Luda will see her soon. Will kill her.

Luda tilts her head up as best she can. She gasps when she sees the younger girl standing over her, knife held aloft. She lunges forward, making a wild grab at Bella's ankles.

Bella's heart races. She throws her knife, stumbling backwards. The knife soars through the air, piercing Luda in the chest.

Luda forces her head down, looking at the knife protruding from her chest. She raises a shaky hand and grasps the hilt. She tries to yank the knife out. But her hand is slippery with blood, and she is weakening by the second. Her body coursing with pain, her hand drops to her side.

Bella gets back on her feet. She looks at Luda, now slumped on the ground before her. Bella reaches down and pulls out her knife. Blood trickles out of the wound, freezing before Bella's very eyes.

BOOM!

Luda is dead. Bella, realizing this, stumbles away from the body. _I killed her_. The words are running through Bella's head, over and over. Horrified, Bella backs away.

A hovercraft appears in the sky. It scoops up Luda's frozen, bloody body.

Bella chokes back a cry. Her brain is not functioning properly. It is too cold.

Bella holds her knife, pointing it toward the sky. Then, she angles it toward her body. Why should she live? She is a murderer now. She has only her cruel father to go back to.

_Suicide, Bella, really? Is that how you want to go?_ Junia's voice runs through her head.

Bella closes her eyes, and continues walking forward. Nothing matters now. She drags herself forward, step by step.

Her foot catches, and Bella falls forward. Her feet scramble for purchase on the slippery ground. But she is distracted by a fierce shoot of pain in her chest. Bella's eyes drift downward, and she sees she has fallen on her knife. It is stuck to the hilt in her chest.

Bella yanks out the knife. Blood pours from the wound, dribbling down her white coat, staining it red. The knife slips from her fingers. She stares at the rip in her coat.

Bella's chest throbs with pain. She has missed her heart. Might as well finish the job off.

Bella fumbles for the knife. She grips it tightly. A tear drips onto her cheek as she thinks of Junia. But it's too late now. The tear freezes, and Bella shoves the knife into her heart.

* * *

**A/N: And we're down to six.**

**Living tributes:**

**District 1: Glint Harson**

**District 4: Aquamarine Mer  
Luxtia Emerald**

**District 7: Archer Lux**

**District 9: Jax Samuel**

**District 11: Orange Skyla**


	54. Down to Two

**A/N: In this chapter, there will be a few deaths. Who? Read on to find out.**

* * *

_District 9: Jax Samuel's POV:_

The midnight before the tenth day, I wake up to a beeping sound. Drowsily, I sit up in my sleeping bag. Luxe is just waking up, also. Glint, who is on guard duty, is reaching out to grab a silver parachute descending from the sky.

"Who's it for?" I ask.

Glint grins. "Well, it let me grab it, I so guess it's for me." He tears open the box and pulls out a chunk of meat, some cheese, and some bread. Enough for a feast.

My mouth waters at the sight of all the food. We started off with a lot, but it's almost gone now. "Hey, can I have some?" I ask.

Glint stares at me. "Of course not. They didn't give me food so I could give it to other people."

"I'm really hungry," I say. "Please?"

"Nope."

Defeated, I lie back in my sleeping bag, as does Luxe.

"Hey, Jax, where you going? It's your watch now," Luxe says.

"It is?"

"Well, I can sort of see it's getting a bit lighter," Luxe says. "That's your signal."

"It's your watch," Glint agrees. "Oh, and Jax, if you steal any of my food, it'll be the end of you."

I don't respond. I'm plotting. I've always planned to turn on my allies at some point in the Games, but I didn't know when. And now we're down to six. And I'm on guard duty. There could be no better time.

I grab the spare sword and turn to my sleeping comrades. Who will I kill first? Glint, I decide. They're both threats, but Glint would be a lot more eager to kill me. Luxe hasn't proved as bloodthirsty.

I turn to Glint, but then Luxe opens his eyes.

"What are you - "

Luxe's sword comes up to parry mine. He sits up, and I turn and attack him.

* * *

_District 11: Orange Skyla's POV:_

In the middle of the night, Archer wakes me up. Drowsily, I sit up. He looks excited. He's crouching, arms clenched against the cold.

"Oron," he says. "Oron, I have a plan."

"A plan?" I repeat. "What for?"

"To, ah..." He seems to be struggling to find the right words. "Well, to wipe out some of our competition."

"Wipe out?" I'm awake now. "Who? The Careers? There's still the boys from One and Four, and the girl from Four."

"I don't think the girl's with them," Archer says. "I heard them talking in the training center. But it sounds like they're with the boy from Nine."

"The boy from Nine," I repeat. "Okay. So, who're we going for?"

"Well, the girl from Four could be anywhere," Archer says. "But the other Careers are probably at the Cornucopia. They're usually at the Cornucopia. Some tradition or something, right?"

I shrug. "No idea. So, how to you propose we kill the Careers?"

"Well, they'll be sleeping," Archer says.

"So, we just sneak up on them and kill them?" I ask.

"We sneak up on them and kill them," Archer confirms.

I'm silent for a moment, thinking. "And what if they wake up before we finish the job?"

"Well, I guess if that happens we fight until someone dies." In the moonlight, Archer's face looks grim and ghastly. "And, Oron, don't shoot your arrows from afar. I know you're a pretty good shot, but I don't want to risk it. Odds are it won't kill them immediately."

"So, what should I do?"

Archer hands another knife.

I stare at it. "Didn't you only have one?"

"I only _had_ one," Archer agrees. "But remember when we found the bag a few hours ago? With the fresh blood? Probably from Luda or Bellatrix, those girls who died yesterday. Well, there was a knife."

I clutch the knife.

"Only use the knife," Archer reminds me.

I'm quiet for a moment. "I don't like this plan," I mutter.

"What about it?"

"Well," I say, "they're probably going to have someone awake, watching to make sure this doesn't happen."

"Look, Oron," Archer says. "There are only six of us left. Someone has to make the first move. I bet the Careers will be hunting tomorrow, trying to be the ones to make that first move. But if we attack them tonight, _we'll_ be the hunters. We can't put it off any longer." His eyes gleam. "I've been planning this since day one."

I sigh. "Well, if you're going, I guess the only thing I can do is follow."

Archer grins. "Quite right. Oh, and Oron..." He glances at me uncomfortably. "If we succeed, we should probably go our separate ways. I don't want it to be you and me at the end."

I nod. "Agreed. So, let's go. Where's the Cornucopia?"

* * *

_District 7: Archer Lux's POV:_

When Oron and I reach the Cornucopia, I stop him.

"So, look," I say. "I'll take Four, and you take One."

"One's the bigger one, right?"

"I think." I take a breath. "And on the count of three, we'll kill them together. And if they wake up, ah... Well, we'll have to keep fighting."

"Great." Oron shakes his head. "Let's try to avoid that."

"Yes, let's." I grip my knife so tightly my knuckles turn white. "So, let's head on in."

I take a deep breath, and then crawl a few meters toward the Cornucopia, Oron right behind me. Two of the Careers are asleep. One is sitting up. When we're about fifteen feet from the three, there is a beeping sound.

Sponsors.

I really, really hope it's not for me or Oron. It would blow our cover. I lay flat on the ground, my heart pounding.

It isn't for us. The sliver parachute goes over to the sleeping Careers. The guard, the boy from One, grabs the parachute from the air.

"Who's it for?" someone asks.

"Well, it let me grab it, so I guess it's for me," the boy from One says, opening the parachute. Food spills out.

"Hey, can I have some?" the second voice asks.

"Of course not. They didn't give me food so I could give it to other people." Not very generous.

"I'm really hungry. Please?" he pleads.

"Nope."

Two of the Careers lie back down in their sleeping bags.

"Hey, Jax, where you going?" It's a third voice, coming from one of the boys on the ground. "It's your watch now."

"It is?" Jax asks.

"Well, I can see it's getting a bit lighter," the third voice continues. "That's your signal."

"It's your watch," the first voice agrees. "Oh, and Jax, if you steal any of my food, it'll be the end of you."

The boy from One lies down, and Jax pushes himself into a sitting position. After a few minutes of waiting, I get to my knees and gesture for Oron to follow me. Trying again. But everything changes when Jax reaches for a sword.

I flatten myself out on thee ice again. He's seen us. _Dang it_. Now he's going to come after us with a sword.

But no. Jax is instead turning to the sleeping form of the boy from One. He raises the sword and -

"What are you - " It's the boy from Four. There is a clang as he parries Jax's strike.

Jax turns to the boy from Four, and attacks.

Oh, no. Dang it, dang it, dang it. Our mission is blown. I send a desperate look at Oron, and am surprised to find him on his knees. And rising.

"What are you doing?" I hiss.

"Joining the battle," he answers.

* * *

_3rd Person:_

Jax yells as he strikes Luxe, still on the ice in his sleeping bag. Luxe parries, and tries to kick his way from the sleeping bag. He strikes at Jax's knees, severing his right lower leg. There is a burst of fresh red blood, and Jax collapses.

Jax ignores the throbbing pain in his leg as best he can, and thrashes out at Luxe with his sword. Luxe lurches back, sliding across the ice. But it's too late; Jax's sword has met its mark. Luxe utters a cry as surprise as his sword flops to the ground. His hand is still attached.

The ice is already deep red in color, though no one has died yet. Jax stands on his left leg, blood pouring buckets from his right. His face is contorted in pain and discomfort. He hobbles after Luxe, creating a path of red behind him. He stands over the body of his former ally, sword in the ice for balance. He yanks it out, and thrusts it into Luxe's torso.

Luxe manages to roll, so the sword pierces his side. But the weapon goes in deep.

BOOM!

Jax collapses on the ground once more. Archer sees the limp but living body from a distance. He goes over to finish him off. He is repulsed by the blood, and knows that another strike will only bring more.

But he kneels by Jax, and forces his knife into his heart. The cannon does not fire, so Archer twists the bloody knife clockwise. The little blood Jax has left pours from the deep wound. Jax screams, then looses consciousness. Seconds later, his cannon fires.

BOOM!

Glint is out of his sleeping bag now, surveying the situation. Luxe and Jax are both dead. Archer and Orange are alive. Who to take on? Archer goes first, Glint decides. He's probably more dangerous, as he has already killed one of Glint's allies.

Glint grabs his sword and charges Archer. Archer's eyes widen and he ducks. Glint's first strike swings harmlessly over his head. But he can't evade forever. Glint shoves Archer to the ground. Orange, running over to help, trips over Archer's splayed legs. Glint grins. There could be no better setup. His sword is already in motion. It arcs downward, cutting into Orange's neck.

Pain shoots through Oron's body. He curls up, then lashes out with his knife, driving it a centimeter into Glint's calf. Glint growls, and strikes at Orange again, putting all his force into the downward thrust. Oron's eyes widen, and do not get the chance to shut again. Glint's sword, armed with force and sharpness, drives deep into Orange's neck once more, this time severing it from the body. Oron's head rolls across the ice, spraying blood like a fountain, and covering Glint and Archer.

BOOM!

Archer kicks off from Glint's already wounded leg. He skids across the ice, and Glint curses and grabs his throbbing leg. He follows Archer. Archer struggles to his feet and uses his last weapon. He can't win in hand-to-hand combat with this monster, but maybe... Archer hurls his knife at Glint, catching him in the arm. Bad throw. That's it.

Glint is tasting victory, despite his leg and arm, approaching his terrified prey. Archer turns and sprints away from his adversary. Glint yanks the knife from his arm, and throws it back at its former owner.

Archer has nearly reached the safety of a towering glacier when a sharp pain shoots through his upper leg. He hops on his right foot, still stumbling along. But the ice, slippery as it tends to be, is no surface to hop across. Archer's leg goes out from under him, and he crashes to the ground.

Glint strolls over to his wounded prey, satisfied. He has never had great aim, but his knife had met its mark. Archer is still trying to get away, pulling himself with his hands, his feet scrambling for purchase.

Glint sticks his sword under Archer and flops him over onto his back.

"It's not worth it," he says gleefully. "You're not going to make it."

Archer, not one to give up, grabs at Glint's injured leg. Glint hops out of his reach, wincing as he lands heavily, and then he grins.

"This is when you give up," he says. "You are completely at my mercy. You are on the ground. I am over you. You are unarmed. I have a knife - your old knife, I should mention - and a sword. Now, tell me. In whom's favor are the odds?"

Archer does not reply. He collects the moisture in his mouth and repels it at the older boy.

Glint smiles cruelly. "I have all the time in the world. It's just you, me, and a Career girl who would've been dead already if she had been in our alliance. So, I think I'll do this slowly. Let's start...let's start with your arms. No more desperate grabs, little boy."

Glint chuckles, and then swings his sword down at Archer's shoulder. He freezes it inches before compact.

"Too afraid?" Archer says bitterly. "Can't do it?"

"Oh, I assure you that I can," Glint says. "It's just that I've had another idea. My aim isn't that great, currently. I'm going to practice...with a real, living, breathing, screaming target."

Archer blanches. He's really going to do it.

"So, let's start by tying you to the glacier. Or...actually, let's pin you there." Glint grins. Then he grabs Archer's wrist and drags him over to the supplies pile. He grabs a bucket of knives. Archer gulps.

Back at the glacier, Glint forces Archer to stand at the wall. He grabs a knife and pulls Archer's arm out to the side. Archer struggles, but can't pull free of Glint's iron grip. Glint opens Archer's clenched fists and casually shoves a knife into his palm. Archer shakes with the pain. Glint does the same with his other palm.

"There," he says, satisfied. "Not going to be leaving now, are you."

He grabs a handful of knives. He picks out a long, thin, deadly sharp one. He smiles before hurling it at Archer. It pierces his stomach. Archer shakes with the pain and presses his thin body into the ice.

"Doesn't that feel good?" Glint asks in an icily sweet tone.

Archer can't answer through the pain. Blood trickles down his stomach, staining his shirt red.

Glint's next knives land in Archer's shoulder, his leg, and again in his stomach.

"I'm getting awfully good at this, aren't I," he says cheerfully. "Oh, man. This is fun."

Glint takes a few steps forward, and takes out a short, thick knife. He focuses and aims. He takes a deep breath, and throws. Archer braces himself for the pain. The knife lands just above his heart. Archer can't hold back his scream.

"Oh, look, I'm out of knives," Glint says casually. "Hmm. Should I pull them out? Nah, let's wait. You'll be dead soon enough. See you soon, dead boy." He goes back to the campsite at the Cornucopia.

It is almost midnight when the last breath leaves Archer's lungs. BOOM! His body slumps to the ground and there is another burst of blood as his hands pull free of their holding knives. The hovercraft comes and scoops up the dead body.

Glint is back in his sleeping bag when the anthem plays. He looks up at the sky. Luxe's face is first. Then Archer. Then Jax. Then Orange. All his allies are gone. An alliance that was once of five is now of one.

Two more tributes left.

* * *

**A/N: Two more tributes left! I know who the victor will be. But tell me still: Who do you want to win? And who do you think will win?**

**District 1: Glint Harson**

**District 4: Aquamarine Mer**


	55. The Finale - Meet the Victor!

**A/N: At last, the chapter we've been waiting for. I can't stall any more. It is time to meet the victor of the seventy-first Hunger Games.**

* * *

_District 4: Aquamarine Mer's POV:_

Two tributes left. Me and Glint, from One. We started off with twenty-four, and we're down to two. Honestly, I wish that someone else had been my last opponent. Glint is one of the few tributes in this arena who could take me down with no trouble. Well, some trouble. Lots of trouble, I guess. Actually, correction: Glint is one of the few tributes in this batch of tributes. Not in the arena. There is only him and me left in the arena.

I was startled last night when I heard the four cannons. And then when I realized that two of the cannons were Careers. Well, obviously, I guess. It's the minimum.

I wonder how this will come into play. We're twelve days into the Games, and there are two of us left. Will they rush on the end or will they continue to drag it out, increasing the suspense? If I'm right about the Capitol, they'll rush it on. But maybe not. I don't know. The Capitol is unpredictable.

I finish off the last of my food at noon. If the Games are coming to an end, I should be as well fed as possible.

Shortly after lunch, the light begins to dim rapidly. I look around, nervous. This is it. The Games will end today.

I pack up all my supplies into my bag, and sling the pack over my shoulder. I sit on the ice, only carrying a spear. I fidget with my weapon, nervous and hyper. When will Glint and I be forced together? And can I beat him?

_Nonsense_, I tell myself. _Of course you can beat him. You're so much better than that huge git. _

But still I am nervous. Today I will leave the arena. I just don't know if I'll be alive, or dead and cold in a box, shipped back to my district. Speaking of my district, they've already lost Luxe, and from what I've heard, more hoped were riding on him than on me. Oh, they'll regret than when I win. When I beat that brute from One into a pulp. A _dead_ pulp.

Suddenly, something wraps around my waist. I yelp and scramble away, jabbing at the...white tendril.

Nixrope.

It's all around me. The ground is buzzing, very alive. I'm stuck in a field of Nixrope.

* * *

_District 1: Glint Harson:_

I'm fantasizing about killing that girl, Aquamarine, when I notice the Nixrope. It's all around me. The ground has come alive with thrashing white tendrils. The ground is bubbling. I'm freaked out in spite of myself. I know that this is it. Today is the finale.

I grab my sword and my jacket. That's all I'll be needing. I've finished off the remaining food. Everything else stays at the Cornucopia. I walk away from the golden horn.

"Where are you, little girl?" I ask loudly. My voice echoes across the open wasteland occupied only by me, another human, and tons of Nixrope. "Come and fight! Or are you too scared? You just know you have no chance beating me, isn't that right?"

I open my mouth to yell something else, something demeaning, but then I snap it shut, remembering something Luxe said on the night Chayenne died.

_I know something about Aquamarine. Her ear - her left, I think...no, her right... - is damaged. Not sure why, but it's bad. She won't be as well protected on that side_.

I'm giving up a huge advantage by yelling. I have to be quiet. It doesn't come naturally, but I manage to shut up. I walk on, silent and as stealthy as I can be. I'm not very stealthy, though. But with Aquamarine's bad ear, things should balance out.

I walk for an hour or so, avoiding Nixrope that grabs at my shoes, my ankles. I can't stop and sleep, or it'll get me and drag me down. I can't find even a square meter of Nixrope-free ice. There's no stopping.

The daylight fades away, and the arena is cloaked in a perpetual twilight.

The final battle is coming, I can sense it. And I know I will be the winner.

* * *

_Head Gamemaker: Teylin Ravine's POV:_

I glance at the map. Two dots are on it. One, _D1M_, is near the water, beeping along the shore. The other, _D4F_, is about half a mile away, down the coast. How to drive them together? Easy.

"Marja," I say.

"Yes, Gamemaker Ravine?" My vice glances up at me.

"No need for that," I say, though I am pleased. "I was just going to say, we need to drive them together. You know this, of course. The question is, how?"

"They're already pretty close," Marja replies.

"Not close enough for a fight," I point out.

"No, not that close," Marja agrees. "We could get them closer, though. And we could spice things up a bit more, even, while we're at it. There's no harm in more drama."

"Any ideas?" I ask.

"Oh, yes." Marja grins. "I was thinking we should focus on the boy. Here's what I suggest..."

* * *

_3rd Person POV:_

The huge teenager walks along the shore, sword in hand. He looks ready for a fight, but no opponent is in sight. He glances around him - at the glaciers, even at the icy ocean. One cannot be too careful.

Glint appears to be quite comfortable. He seems confident in his success. He does not believe that he will have trouble besting a mere girl from Four. A Career she may be, but Glint too can claim that title. And he has no doubt that he is stronger. He has nothing to fear from Aquamarine Mer.

Quite casually, Glint wipes dried blood from his sword. At first he does not notice when the water recedes. He glances up from his sword a minute later, though, and sees the water several meters back. He frowns.

He knows it isn't a good sign. His brain attempts to find an explanation for the odd occurrence, but fails. Glint shrugs. Who cares that the water is receding? What harm can water do?

Glint, never the most intelligent, does not connect receding water with disasters. But Aquamarine, half a mile down the shore, knows more.

.

Aquamarine walks down the shore, new trident in hand. She just received it the previous night. She stares out at the water to calm her jumping nerves. While doing so, she notices the retreat in the water line.

Distressed, Aquamarine walks nervously from the shore. Coming from District Four, right on the water, she has experienced many a natural disaster. She remembers the signs. The water recedes right before...

And there it is, on the horizon - a bump of water. It comes closer, and forms a wave. It roars toward the shore - a huge tidal wave. Aquamarine's breath catches. She has to get away _now_. But behind her is a steep cliff that stretches to either side as far as the eye can see. She will have to climb.

.

Glint hears the roaring. He whips around, his eyes straining to make out the blip on the horizon. It comes closer, and his eyes identify it as a wave. A huge wave. Glint has only seen the smaller, tamer waves, and only in his time in the arena. Never has he seen such a huge wave. Nor one as threatening.

Glint stares at the wave as it comes closer. He has to get away from the shore, that he knows. Looking around, he spots the edge of the cliff on his right. There - he'll have to get behind the cliff. Hopefully it'll break the wave.

Glint scrambles to the edge of the cliff. Looking behind, he sees only a minefield of icy boulders next to the rising form of the cliff. He struggles inland. Aquamarine will be able to swim, he reasons. He, on the other hand, cannot. She has the advantage. He cannot deny that.

.

Aquamarine, after a minute of hard climbing and scraped hands, is still meters from the top. Her arms are aching. The wave is sure to arrive any minute. She will have to make it over before that.

She twists her head, and sees he towering wave. It's approaching quickly, and it's far taller that the cliff. She'll need to get far away from the cliff, too, if she is to survive.

Aquamarine grabs a jutting piece of ice, and pushes up with her legs. Her head pops above the cliff. She's so close. Painfully, she hoists herself up, and rolls onto the ice, gasping.

Aquamarine scrambles to her feet and glances back at the tidal wave. It's close, too close. She tilts her head to see the top. No luck. She grabs her trident from her bag.

The tribute turns and sprints away from the water below. She runs as hard as she can, trying desperately to increase the distance between herself and the upcoming disaster. She is a hundred or so meters away from the clifftop when she hears the boom. The sound of the fury of untamed water unleashing its wrath onto a poor glacier.

.

Glint rushes inland. He sees the girl, Aquamarine, from a distance. She is scrambling down the side of the ice cliff. Now would be the time to do it. To kill her. To _win_. He comes up behind her, sword raised high. Transfixed by the upcoming wave, her ear bad, Aquamarine does not her him. Glint strikes out with his sword.

Aquamarine's hand falls to the ice. She yelps, whipping around and lashing out with her trident. Blood streams from her arm, and from Glint's torso where the trident scrapes across. Glint attacks again, to finish the job.

But he does not get this chance. There is a deafening boom as the tidal wave crashes into the clifftop. Glint spins around just as the rush of water comes.

The water sweeps Glint off of his feet. He lands in the icy water with a grunt. He opens his eyes only to feel the pang of water in them. He squeezes them tightly shut.

Glint struggles to his feet. His head breaks through the surface, and he gasps for air. He sees Aquamarine's head several meters away, bobbing above the surface. She's swimming. Though the water is only a few feet deep, she is swimming. Waves bash her and she disappears from sight. Dead, Glint hopes.

The raging water is too strong even for Glint, and again he is forced beneath the surface. Spitting and gasping, he fights his way back to the air.

Quite suddenly, Glint feels a tug, and realizes that the water is puling him. Pulling him out. Glint forces his head to turn, and he sees the edge of the cliff just a few meters away. The water is streaming over it...in a waterfall.

Glint yells aloud and fights, desperately trying to go west, away from the waterfall. If he goes over, the fall will kill him. That he knows. Standing up will not last; the currents will pull him over. There is nothing to grab onto. The only real way would be to swim.

But Glint can't swim.

.

Aquamarine sees the waterfall, and the mat of blond hair slowly approaching it. It's Glint. Aquamarine doubts that her adversary can swim. And he's barely a meter from the dropout.

Aquamarine feels the current tugging at her, and she fights against it, swimming west. She knows she is not making any progress, though. Her right arm is out of commission, her arm a bloody stump, and the icy water stings the wound.

But Aquamarine tries to ignore her pain. Her life depends on staying way from the waterfall. Not going over.

Desperately, Aquamarine beats the water behind her, scrabbles at the ice beneath her with her feet. She is six meters away...five...four...

.

Glint pushes at the ground under the water, trying to propel the water behind him, the way they say you swim. His heart pounding, he fights the current pulling him over the cliff. This is it. Life or death. The finale.

Glint stabs at the ground with his foot, stabs downward, but finds no ice. His weight is still above the waterfall, but he knows his leg is over it.

And Glint falls backward.

Glint yells as he falls, plummeting toward the water somewhere below. His stomach is still at the top of the cliff, left behind.

And then Glint hits the ground.

The air is knocked from his lungs. Pain shoots through every cell of his body. He tries to gauge the damage, but he can feel his life slipping away. And soon Glint is but a broken teenager's body, floating in the icy sea.

.

BOOM!

Aquamarine's head jerks above the water's surface. The icy wind punishes her face. She hears the cannon, _Glint's_ cannon, and knows it - she has won. But she cannot stop. She still fights the current, desperation rising above all sense of victory.

But then there is no current left to fight.

The water sinks into the glacier, and Aquamarine's bloody but living form is left all alone on a ravaged clifftop. She hears the trumpets signifying her victory. Through her pain and tiredness, Aquamarine feels the fruits of victory.

She has done it.

She, Aquamarine Mer, is the victor of the seventy-first Hunger Games.

* * *

**A/N: This is probably the only SYOT ever that had a Career win. (I've never read another, which is weird.)**

**When I began writing the Games a month or two ago, I had about six potential victors in mind. Then, I narrowed that down to three, and then to one. I'll admit, it was hard to choose. But I chose. And it makes sense, doesn't it? Aquamarine trained for the Games all her childhood, and was a strong tribute. But there were many strong tributes out there. **

**This story is not over! I'll be writing the victory tour and the interview and stuff. Any suggestions for that will be greatly appreciated. **

**I know that MaximumAngel1 is probably the only person who submitted to my SYOT who does not now hate me. Sorry to everyone else.**

**So...reactions? **


	56. Interviewing the Victor

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait. I was busy writing a really, really long chapter for my other story. (Check it out if you want.) I don't know if anyone other than MaximumAngel1 is reading this, as everyone else has been killed off (well, the tributes), but I'm writing it anyways.**

* * *

The famous girl walks onstage, wearing a sea green dress. Her copper colored hair is braided over her shoulder. This District Four victor wears a proud smile as she is escorted to her seat by the famed interviewer and announcer of the Hunger Games, Caesar Flickerman. Her expression says, _I always knew I could do it. And now I've done it_.

She takes her seat, and Flickerman starts right up with the questions. "Welcome, Aquamarine. How are you tonight?"

"I'm great, Caesar," she replies. "I've just won the Games, which I've always wanted to do. And now I'm all fixed up, I've got a new hand, and I'm face-to-face with my favorite audience in Panem." She smiles at the crowd. "I'm very grateful for what you all sent me. Especially the trident."

If you look in her eyes, you can see what she's thinking. _Though I could've won just as easily without it_. But she's too smart to say that. Of course she is. Dunces don't win the Hunger Games. People who've trained and trained for it, like Aquamarine did, usually do.

The crowd screams, and she shoots them a smile.

"Ah, yes, your hand," Caesar says. "How is it? And can you tell us again what happened?"

Fury flashes through Aquamarine's eyes. "Glint Harson, from District One. The wave was coming, and I didn't hear him come up behind me. My ear's bad, too. And then my right arm exploded in pain, and I looked down, and there was a hand on the ice beside me. And then the wave hit, and Glint went over. And I won. But the idiot took my _hand_. And so now I have this."

She holds up her right arm. At the end, where her hand would have been, there is a prosthetic hand. "I'm still learning to control it." She clenches and unclenches her fist.

"Well, you won," Caesar reminds her. "You definitely showed him not to mess with you."

Aquamarine rolls her eyes. "The waterfall took him over. I wish it didn't, so I could have gored him to death with my trident. I definitely could have. It would be a great way to win. But no, he _had_ to go over that waterfall, so I didn't get to kill him personally. A shame." She shakes her head.

"How would you have killed him?" Caesar asks, leaning forward. "Tell us. Would you have used your trident, or maybe your bare hands?"

Aquamarine laughs. "My bare hands? I'm not suicidal. I know I'm not as physically strong as he is. I'm just better at _everything else_. I'd have killed him with my trident, obviously. I'd have stabbed him in the gut, first, probably, and then in the neck. I'd have disabled him first, and then left him in his pain for ten or so minutes."

"Would you have let him bleed to death?" Caesar asks.

"Oh, no." Aquamarine smirks. "That would be friendly of me. No, then I would try to cut his arm of with my trident. It would be interesting. I wonder how long it would take. And then he'd be lying there, armless. Karma, you know. And then I'd kill him."

"Had you been planning that for the entire almost two weeks?"

"No," she answers. "I would've disposed of him much quicker had he not cut off my hand." She raises her prosthetic hand. "But then he did, and I knew I couldn't let him go quickly. But then he went over the waterfall." She crosses her arms, disgruntled.

"I'm surprised that the Gamemakers let him be swept away," Caesar admits. "Usually they try to preserve the last few tributes for each other."

"I wish they had," she says bitterly. "There weren't many fights at all, I bet. It was so cold, I bet several of them froze to death. Am I correct, Caesar? I expect I am."

"You are," he confirms. "I'm not sure of the exact statistics, but I _do_ no that quite a few died from the cold."

Aquamarine laughs bitterly. "This year's Gamemakers didn't do that great of a job, did they."

"They could have done better," Caesar admits. "But let's get back to you. Are you excited to go back to your district?"

"Yes, definitely," she says. "While I loved it here, I did miss my family."

"Do you think they'll be excited to see _you_?" he asks.

"Where did that come from? Of _course_ they'll be excited to see me." She frowns at him. "And in the odd event that they aren't, that's too bad for them."

"I'm sure they'll be," Caesar says. "So, are you looking forward to the Victory Tour, and a life as a mentor?"

"Well, I'm definitely excited to see the other districts," Aquamarine answers. "And I know I'll be able to coach several tributes who will win. So I believe the answer is a general _yes_, Caesar."

"That's wonderful," he replies warmly. "And do you know what house in Victor's Village you'll choose?"

"Well, we have the third most amount of victors in all of the districts," she says. "So we have a rather large Victor's Village. It's on an island right off of the mainland, and I've only been there once, on a school trip. I was twelve. The island is shaped like a pear. I'd like to live on the long end, on the very tip. There aren't as many victors living there, and it's right by the ferry. I think I'll choose one of those houses."

"I see you've thought about it a lot," Caesar remarks.

"I have," she agrees. "I mean, I always knew I was going to win. When I was younger, I wanted to live in the bulk of the island, where Finnick Odair and Ralma Overseas live. But for several years now this has been my plan."

"Nice," he says. "Tell me, Aquamarine...were there any points in the Games where you doubted, even briefly, that you were going to win? Maybe when you were stuck on that drifting iceberg?"

"Well, that was definitely a low point," Aquamarine says, "but I wouldn't say I doubted I'd win. I always knew I'd win."

"Interesting." Caesar raises his eyebrows at the audience. "Okay, Aquamarine, I have one last question for you. It's the last one, I promise. When you get back to District Four, what is the first thing you'll do?"

She thinks about it. "Well, Caesar, after I see my family, and spend some time with them, I think I'm going to go swimming. I've missed that. Of course, I _could_ have gone swimming in the arena, but...well, I would've frozen to death." She smiles.

"Thanks for joining us today," Caesar says, standing up. "I'm glad you could see us. And congratulations again. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Aquamarine Mer of District Four, victor of the seventy-first annual Hunger Games!"

* * *

**A/N: So, if anyone read that, please tell me by reviewing and telling me what you think. The next chapter will be the Hunger Games rerun video, and I have absolutely no idea when I'll post it. **


End file.
